


Assassin's Creed: Death Rattle Part One

by Foxeyes13



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin's Creed II, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Original Character(s), Rewrite, Underage Substance Use, part one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxeyes13/pseuds/Foxeyes13
Summary: Dakota Verdi learns the true identity of her late father- an Assassin.  She is forced into the Assassin way of life, just as training begins for a top-secret mission.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on another fanfiction site a few years ago and have since abandoned it. I decided to give it another go...so this is a rewrite of a rewrite.
> 
> P.S. I'm unsure of a schedule for chapter posting at this stage.

#  **_Prologue- Antonio’s Memoirs_ **

****

Today, Tabatha and I welcomed our new baby girl into the world. We named her Dakota Alexia Verdi. The joke about the room was between Dakota’s zodiac and nationality- an Italian Sagittarius, simply destined to be a wild child. I couldn’t wait to see this little one grow and surprise us. 

My Assassin’s were following diligent orders; two always stood guard at the door of the hospital room for the duration of Tabatha’s stay. Another set of Assassin’s stayed at our home and kept an eye about the neighborhood for the threat of Templars. The nurses at the hospital were confused about our strict standards; constantly reminded us of the hospital security on campus. We would smile and thank them, telling them our religion prohibited us from leaving the new mother and baby unguarded. The same precautions were set in place when Jason Carry and his wife, Amanda, had their first child a few months ago. The system worked out well, and Amanda felt safe at all times. 

The surviving members of Tabatha’s and my family came to see Dakota later in the day. Tonya, Tabatha’s sister, had made an unexpected visit despite slowly losing her battle with breast cancer. But today, Tonya was energized with the excitement of the new baby in the family. My last surviving sibling, my brother Arnaldo, came in the afternoon for both good and bad reasons. As he had said to me upon greeting him in the hallway, “I am here to see my niece since my time with her will be short.” 

I couldn't hide my worried expression; Arnaldo pulled me aside to tell me the news. His mission was failing against the Templar’s ever-expanding Abstergo Industries. They would hunt him to the end of the Earth just to put a stop to his life now that they knew who he was and the sabotage he inflicted on their Order. Arnaldo would share the fate the rest of our family has been inflicted with since the times of Renascence in Italy. 

I sighed at the news, “Maybe, one day, Dakota will see the end of this war.” 

“Are you going to teach her our ways?”

I dropped my eyes to the floor, “When she’s old enough. She should be able to choose her own path.”

My brother clasped my shoulder, “Let’s hope it’s the Eagle’s path.” 


	2. One- Colt

#  **_One- Colt_ **

I was assigned to one of the most important missions the Order has been waiting for the chance to deploy. Dakota Verdi was to be collected and brought back our base for her training; however, this mission was not going to be clean-cut and as simple as it sounded. Dakota has been raised blind to her heritage; ignorant to the fact her father was the most powerful and influential Master Assassin's the Order has witnessed for at least a hundred years. 

Sadly, when Dakota was ten years old, her father was murdered by a small group of Templars. His murder was cleverly covered up by a corrupt police force that passed off the incident as a bank robbery. 

Knowing that the Templar’s were at large and on the hunt for the Master Assassin, Dakota’s parents took precautions the day she was born to ensure her safety. Antonio Verdi had many Assassins within his ranks, all willing to give their lives by his command, to ensure that the Assassins prevailed. Antonio called upon his ranks to watch over his wife, Tabatha, and daughter if he was to die. In his attempt to ensure the safety of his family, Antonio turned to some of his fellow Master Assassins, asking them to take Dakota in for training when she was eighteen years of age if he was to meet his untimely death. Never to ignore a new recruit, the Master Assassin’s agreed to take Dakota under their wing. 

For what we know of Dakota, her personality, work ethic, and even her tastes for revenge elude us. Her mother does not stay in contact with the Assassins more than those Antonio has asked to guard the Verdi household. Word had gotten to the Assassin’s late of when it was time to collect Dakota; she turned eighteen and graduated high school, and in the middle of her freshman year of college. We were to collect Dakota after her high school graduation and before she started attending college, meaning that my job had become more complicated.

After an eight hour flight from London to New York City, I exited the plane and surfed through the crowd of people waiting for passage to their destinations in the fourth terminal. With ease, I found my luggage and made my way to the airline terminal train. My connector flight was to take off from the first terminal, and my flight will end at Reagan National Airport, Washington D.C. 

As I boarded the terminal train, I couldn’t help but notice a man who stepped onto the train off to the right. He looked at me as I examined him; he took his seat, keeping his head down. I stayed standing, holding onto the safety bar overhead, keeping my eyes on the man. He looked suspicious, and his nervous actions of rubbing his hands together and bouncing his left leg made my senses keener to him. The train lurched forward- the man stayed put. After only a few minutes, the train jolted to a stop marking our arrival to the first terminal. 

I let the other people exit the train before myself, losing the curious man in the swarm of people. Slowly, scanning the crowd I was stepping into, I looked for the man. Within the waves of people, I moved with them, blending into my surroundings as I searched the hall for him. Moving at a slant, I felt eyes upon my back. Nonchalantly, I peeked over my shoulder, and sure enough, the man was following behind me. 

Quickly, avoiding any contact with innocent people, I dodged into the men’s restroom that was unoccupied at the moment.  The metal door closed behind me, and I looked at myself in the mirror before checking if my temporary ceramic blade was in working condition before I engaged in a fight. With a flick of my wrist, my hidden blade ejected from the strap under my sleeve with no snags. Another flick of my wrist, the blade disappeared. The bathroom door flew open, and there stood the man who followed me. 

“Think you could just slip away, Assassin? Think we wouldn’t have followed you?” He growled with a grin on his face so sickening I curled my top lip in rebuff.

“ _Oh_ _I knew_ , Templar,” I growled. 

The man lunged at me, and I sidestepped to the left to avoid his grasp. He fell into the sink counter, catching himself with his hands. I grabbed him back the collar of his shirt and threw him against the metal stalls behind us. The Templar’s head hit against the metal once, and I repeated the motion twice more, slamming the man’s head against the metal doors until a dent had formed. The Templar grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm back until I released him. I kicked him in the groin so he released the twist. As he grabbed for his groin in pain, I mustered my force and delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the man’s back. The Templar fell to the floor, hitting his face off of the dirty bathroom tile. He did not move as blood ran from his temple onto the white tile, and I moved away from his body and left the bathroom. 

As I walked away from the scene, I watched as a few men enter after me. I blended in with the crowd and moved towards my designated flight in hopes of not being discovered. 


	3. Chapter Two

#  **_Two- Dakota_ **

I placed an empty candy box in the trash and returned to my register to check out a customer buying a bottle of soda and a candy bar. She began to tell me that she had been in the hospital for three days now with her sick husband and that she was tired of the food from the cafeteria. I smiled comfortingly, offered words of hope for a quick recovery, and handed her change back. My coworker waited outside of the gift shop door for the woman to exit before pushing in a cart filled with drinks to restock the shop’s three coolers. 

Sebastian pushed the cart inside, “Did you hear about the guy they found dead at JFK airport?”

“No, I didn’t actually. What happened?” I asked as I walked towards the coolers to help restock. 

“I guess some guy got the shit beat out of him in the men’s bathroom. The craziest part is the authorities have no leads on the guy that killed him. There’s only some security footage of someone leaving the bathroom with his hood up- so they have no idea what he looked like. Then he just seemed to disappear, like, they can’t pick him up on any other camera angles. And there’s not even a single eye witness or anyone that can plausibly say ‘Hey yeah I saw that guy and here’s his description.’” 

I shook my head, “That’s crazy.” 

“ _ Right _ ? Like how does that even happen?” 

With another hour left to go in my shift, Sebastian and I closed the store with a sign on the door reading:  _ Will Reopen Shortly- Sorry for any Inconvenience  _ so we could complete the midday shift change in peace. 

I got off work at three, taking my skateboard from the back of the gift shop and fitting it under my arm. I gave Sebastian a quick wave of my unoccupied hand as a goodbye. His goodbye ended with his voice increasing in volume, pleading for me to be careful as I put my pink beanie on my head, and walked out the door. Once outside the hospital, I threw my skateboard down on the sidewalk and jumped on, heading towards the local university. 

I was off to spend some “time” with Logan, my friend-with-benefits for close to a year now. He was a biomedical engineer major, hardcore gamer, and the only person I knew who could drink an entire bottle of moonshine without passing out. He was my first friend at college after sitting next to each other in our freshman seminar class. Our friendship quickly grew into something neither of us was expecting. We have a few classes together this year until the ‘engineer’ part started to kick in, leaving me alone with the rest of the people in the Bachelor of Science in Nursing program. 

Logan was the one who invited me to the first college football game- including the pre-game shots, and the after-party with celebratory vodka and marijuana in an orange. That night with Logan sent my promising freshmen year to the depths of late-night shenanigans within the company of the “wrong crowd.” 

Once on campus, I zoomed past a group of my fellow weekend party-goers sitting around the campus fountain. They whistled and yelled comments acknowledging that they  _ knew _ the purpose of my visit. As I passed I flashed the ever so classy Sup Nod and continued zigzagging through crowds of people until at last reaching Logan’s dormitory hall. I kicked up my skateboard and placed it under my arm to enter the building. 

I climbed my way up to Logan’s room on the very top floor, dodging through people as if I were never there. I knocked on his door, which flung open almost instantly.  Logan was standing in the doorway in his normal T-shirt and basketball shorts. He wore his red hair pulled back in a ponytail, a brilliantly white smile, and the look of desire in his eyes. I walked into his room, walking with as much of a strut I could imitate. He closed the door and locked it. 

“Good to see you, Dakota.” Logan’s southern drawl cooed as he smirked devilishly at me.

I smirked back, “cut the crap and get me in bed.” 

  
  


I decided not to stay the night and left quietly while Logan was in a sex-induced coma for the evening. Skating home, I couldn't help but dream of a life packed with action and adventure. A life out of a movie, I mused to myself as I recklessly weaved in and out of imaginary obstascules.  Once home, I put my skateboard by the door and kicked off my shoes before turning to lock the front door. Moving from the breezeway into the kitchen, I started to fix myself the leftover Curry from the semi-weekly Friday takeout night. 

As the microwave beeped signaling my food was waiting to be devoured, I heard my mother laugh from the dining room. I eyed the threshold of the kitchen in such a fashion it seemed I was blaming the walls for a case of the giggles. Then came the decision between abandoning my reheated Curry spinning around aimlessly in the microwave to see what or whom my mother was chuckling at, or take my bowl and look like an idiot walking around with stringy noodles in my mouth. I looked from the threshold to the microwave and back; letting out a sigh, I left my noodles in fear of a socially awkward noodle eating episode. I exited the kitchen and moved towards the dining room where I could hear two voices lightly exchanging conversation. Peering in from the hallway I found my mother seated at the table with a glass of wine across from a stranger. 

I knocked on the archway to the room, and my mother looked up, “ _ Dakota _ ! You’re home,” She smiled at me then gestured to the man sitting at our table. “This is Colt Burdett. Colt, this is my daughter Dakota.” 

“Uh…hi,” I said to the stranger. He did not dress to be of anything of importance, jeans and a hoodie with messy brown hair, so why was he in my house? I hoped my mother did not take on a new mission to save the homeless. 

“Hello, Dakota,” he smiled. 

Yep. I didn’t like him; he looked like a sneaky bastard. 

“Dakota, sit down, Colt needs to explain a few things to you.” My mother said after taking a sip of wine.

I blinked at her, “Can I get my noodles first?” 

My mother blinked back at me, “Yes. Go get your noodles.” 

When I returned to the dining room with my bowl full of spicy noodles and soda in a wine glass, I curled up cross-legged seated at the head of the table between my mother and Colt. When my mother and Colt finished the conversation they were holding, Colt turned to me and began asking me questions about my college major, my friends, and my job. After a long half-hour in an almost interview type atmosphere, Colt sat back in his chair and chewed his lip. He then looked to my mother and nodded; she immediately stood up and left the room without saying a word. 

“Dakota…do you remember your father well?”

I  _ really  _ did not like this guy, “yes.” 

“So you know about the Assassin’s then,” Colt said matter-of-factly.

“The  _ what _ ?” I asked shortly and annoyed. 

“Dakota, are you aware your father was part of a Brotherhood that follows a Creed? A Brotherhood with a Creed with sworn enemies known as the Templar’s?”

“My dad was a businessman who was shot at gunpoint in a bank robbery.” I gave him a cold stare, my face becoming hot.

Colt sat back, then waved with two fingers at the doorway in a  _ come in _ sort of fashion. My mother re-entered the room, carrying a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. Colt continued, “Your father was no ordinary businessman, Dakota. Your father was a Master Assassin- a great Mentor at that- who was shot down by a Templar group in a bank. Cleverly  _ disguised _ as a bank robbery; the Templar’s got away.” 

I was disgusted, “ _ Che diavolo è questo, è figlio di una cagna _ ?! You have some  _ balls  _ to come in here and start feeding us this bull-!”

“Dakota!” My mother said sharply, “He is telling the truth.” She placed the leather book on the table and pushed it towards me. 

I pulled the book close to me. The cover had an odd, large symbol upon it; it was some sort of curved triangle with points near the bottom, underlined by an arch _. Is this the symbol of the Assassins? Are they telling me the truth? _ I turned the cover over to find a page written in a beautiful script, but it only took a moment for me to realize it was in Italian. My mother prompted me to read the page, and so I did. Quickly translating the page, I muttered to myself the page's contents: 

_ Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted _

_ To say that ‘Nothing is true’ is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile  _ _ and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilization.  _

_ To say ‘Everything is Permitted’ is to understand that we are the architects of our actions,  _ _ and we must live with their consequences, whether glorious  _ _ or tragic.  _

-Ezio Auditore da Firenze,  _ Roma _

“Who is this Ezio guy?” I asked not looking up from the page I had just read. 

“A very important Assassin from Renaissance Italy,” Colt said. 

“He recruited the first member of your father’s family into the Assassin’s,” my mother said softly, “and the Verdi family stayed true through the generations.” 

I turned the page and found documents and photos of people known as Templar’s; these people were my father’s targets as my mother explained. I could recall a few of these names from the news and accounts of them being murdered or dying from overdoses in homes and hotels. It was odd to look upon faces of intended targets with red X’s marked over their faces…faces of people my father murdered. 

Continuing through the book, I found some pictures of people who are my current neighbors. I found a picture of my mother's current boyfriend, Jason Carry, posing with his son, Greg. I was shocked- the picture of the father-son duo was unnerving, but it put a lot of things into perspective for me. Greg Carry and I were in the same high school graduating class. This picture explained his weirdness to me throughout high school, because he  _ knew _ about the Assassin’s, the truth of my father’s death, and I did not. My mother informed me that our neighbors had special orders from my father to look over the household until I became of age. Only then was I supposed to be approached by the Assassin’s. 

This book was also my father’s journal, filled with countless entries dating from when he was my age. I didn’t read all of the entries, simply gazing over them and turning to the next page. Reaching the end of the book, I found newspaper clippings of my father’s murder and details on the bank robbery. Then, on the very last page of the book was a picture of my mother standing next to my father. He dressed in strange black robes, smiling down to the baby in his arms. 

“Mom…is that  _ me _ ?” I asked gazing upon the photo.

My mother’s voice cracked, “Yes, Dakota. It is you.”

I sat back in my chair and stared at the photo. “Why didn’t anyone  _ tell _ me?”

For a long second, no one justified my question, but when the answer came, it was my mother to speak. “Your father believed that you shouldn’t be exposed to a cruel way of life so early. He was raised as an Assassin, Dakota. All of your aunts and uncles…your grandparents…they were all Assassins; all of them killed by Templar’s. Antonio believed that it was  _ your  _ choice to pick the side of the Assassins when you had become older.”

The thought stayed with me for a moment. It was a generous offer from my father to keep me safe by staying ignorant. He must have understood how difficult this was going to be for me to do alone, right? Well…if he knew that it would be hard for me to understand all of this, why would he  _ not  _ make plans to teach me when I was older?

“Did he know he was going to die, too?” I asked, tears welling in my eyes.

My mother choked on her tears, “Yes, Dakota, he knew he was going to die. He knew that very day that he would be faced with the Templar’s...” her voice trailed off.

For a long time, I stared at that photo of my father holding me as a baby. No one said a word; my mother’s sniffles becoming the only sound in the room. Within just a few moments, everything I once knew about my father’s life was completely turned upside down. How much of my childhood was improvised to fit around this hidden life of my parents? 

“So,” I shot a look to Colt and met his eyes, “what do you want from me?” 

Colt straightened himself up in his chair and folded his hands upon the table. “Your father knew that living a life as an Assassin and a family man was very dangerous. He made sure that his ranks of Assassin’s lived around one another, and therefore protecting each and every family. Each Assassin made the same pledge to one another, and that was to watch over the families of fallen Brothers. However, your father asked something rather particular, and that was to inform my base when you graduate from high school and come of age.”

“Why?” I asked simply, trying not to feel so ignorant.

“Your father wanted you to have the option of coming to train at our secret base in London, England.”

I was taken aback, “England? But you don’t  _ sound _ British.”

Colt smiled, “I’m originally from California, but I was sent to train at this base. There's plenty of Assassin’s-in-training from different places all over the world and of different ages.”

“How do you get into this base? Like, do you have to be really good and  _ selected _ to go there?”

“No, Dakota,” Colt shook his head with a smile. “You simply must have connections and safe passage. We take in young teens and adults that are down on their luck and want something to fight for. We offer private rooms, free meals, and free training, all in the agreement that they become an Assassin.”

“So… the Assassin’s must be successful then if you can afford all of that,” I said with a hopeful smile.

Colt made a twisted face, “Not  _ exactly _ . The Assassin’s only have this one set base, and it has not been there for a long time. For our money to supply the utilities and necessities, we have… _ inside _ sources. Plus, we spare expenses on security, because the Assassin’s we train act as our guards when reaching a certain rank.” 

“What about the Templar’s? Wouldn’t they figure this base out sooner or later?” 

Colt shrugged, “They already know about it. Although, they can’t prove we are what we are not; for instance, the base is in an old hospital that we remolded for our needs. When the hospital went out,  _ we _ came in under the disguise that we were taking in certain kids on special scholarships.” 

“Seriously? That’s it?” 

“That’s it. The people believed us, and the Templar’s can’t find anyone of any decent power to say otherwise. Everything is disguised well enough that it looks like a  _ modern _ school with a high price tag, and on top of that, we don’t cause any commotions within the community. We are quite charitable with the community and have some of the ‘students,’” he air quoted, “help with volunteer work.” 

I shook my head, everything was just so surreal. “So what am I supposed to do?” 

“Well…we need you to drop out of school, leave all of your friends behind, and come back with me to England to live at our base.” 

My jaw dropped; Colt had just put everything so bluntly that it seemed rude to ask me to fuck everything and become an Assassin. I mean, my friends in college weren’t the  _ best  _ of friends, and all of my friends in high school went their separate ways. But I didn’t know anything about the Assassins, and I wasn’t a murderer! How could he expect me to sign up to become a mass murderer? And how on Earth was Colt expecting me to leave my mother here alone, now knowing that there are Templar’s prowling about that enjoyed killing off my family members. On the other hand, Colt had just prompted my life of action and adventure...

My mother spoke up, “sweetie, I know it’s a hard decision…”

“How long do I have to decide?” I asked a little hesitantly. 

Colt shrugged, “I am here for three weeks, so you have until I leave to make your decision.”

  
  


I barricaded myself in my bedroom for the rest of the evening. Colt was staying in our guest bedroom for the entirety of his trip, which indicated I wouldn’t be able to escape this epidemic without making a decision. I turned the idea over and over again in my mind, staring at my black and pink striped wallpaper decorated with things I have collected over the years. I stared at the large dream catcher my great grandmother made for my mother when she was little. I looked over the detail of the web a thousand times like it was going to give me an answer to my dilemma. 

Just the idea of the Assassin’s bugged me. I felt as if they were the shady sort; even my father was an Assassin and I had never heard of them until now. My father...was a murderer... 

Colt had picked a very sensitive topic to bring up right after meeting with him; I was filled with disgust that, even now just thinking about it, made me want to throw something. 

Then there was that  _ Ezio _ dude talking about how society should treat civilization; it sounded like a Biblical reference. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Assassins were some religious cult trying to gather up as many followers as possible, but for my dad to be the religious type didn’t seem to fit. My mother was the religious one in the family, taking me along with here three nights a week to Catholic Mass when I was a little kid. Although, when my father died, my mother’s faith was shaken greatly and we immediately stopped going to church altogether. 

I had to look past a possible religious sentiment in the inscription from that Ezio guy. Maybe the Assassin’s were some secret Italian organization? Could my father's parents have possibly come to America in the fifties to help this organization spread? I highly doubted it, but then again most of my family died from “strange causes.” For instance, my uncle Angelo was murdered in his home trying to defend his family from an intruder. Things started to click from there; my father’s entire side of the family died from really  _odd_ and tragic  reasons. Could it all really be from those…Templar dudes? Was  _ I  _ on the hit list? 

God, that was a bone-chilling thought- my name on a hit list and I was to die ignorant of the entire war between two secret organizations? I could be another casualty to this war and the Templar’s could just pass it off to the authorities as easy as my father’s death. It angered me. The connections to the Templar’s gave me someone to hate, someone to blame for ripping my family completely apart; killing off my family because they followed a different creed. 

If I agreed to join the Assassins, but wait the full three weeks to announce my decision, I would find myself ending my first year in college, quitting my job, and moving away from Maryland. Then again, I would be leaving all of my friends, my mother, and my entire college opportunity that I received on a full-ride scholarship for nursing. I stressed myself to a point of exhaustion and fell asleep dreaming about my anticipations of these Assassins and Templar’s. 


	4. Three- Colt

#  **_Three- Colt_ **

Dakota was sitting on the floor of her bedroom with thick textbooks opened and her written notes spread out in front of her. I would have considered her a pretty girl, as she had a curvy hourglass figure, but she had quite a lot of piercings. Her right ear pierced seemingly all the way from lobe to cartilage, and her left ear had two piercings in the lobe. She had the left side of her nose pierced, along with her right eyebrow. As she sat and studied, I could hear the sound of metal rubbing against the inside of her teeth, and once and a while she would bite down on the stud pierced through her tongue. Everything about her screamed college-kid-rebellion, and it was quite annoying.

Dakota ripped her fingers through her black hair with a heavy sigh as she flipped through her notes, mumbling to herself as she read. I was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, a little hesitant to disturb the stressing college student. 

I tapped the door a few times.

“Yes?” She asked snidely without looking up.

“Studying for finals, I see.” 

Dakota nodded, “Pretty much.”

“For nursing, was it?”

“Indeed,” I could hear the annoyance in her tone. 

“Why did you choose nursing?”

With a sigh, Dakota looked up from her notes with a sneer. “Nursing can pay well and it’s a field I’ll actually get a job in. Plus, I get to help people and hopefully make a difference in their lives.” 

I smirked, “So you like to help people, is it?”

Dakota shrugged, “Yeah, I mean…I  _ guess _ . I’m outgoing and get along with a lot of people, so why _ not _ work with them?” 

“There are other ways to help people, you know.” 

She caught on, and shot me a look, “Yeah, running around stabbing people seems like a lovely opportunity.” 

“I don’t think you understand the power Templar’s inflict on innocent people.” 

“Can we talk about this some other time, Colt? Please? I’m trying to study for my last final tomorrow.” 

“Just one more thing, Dakota, please? Just one more thing to think about?” 

Dakota eyed me, “And what might  _ that _ be?”

I smirked, “you know your precious Facebook…Twitter…Instagram?”

“Uh-huh,” Dakota nodded.

“They’re all Templar based.”

Dakota’s mouth opened slightly with her eyes squinted at me. She was mulling something over in her mind for a quick second before closing her mouth again. 

“What do you mean?” She snapped accusingly.

“All of the social media you have integrated within your lifestyle as a teenager has only provided Templar’s with critical information. They see everything that you post. They know  _ all _ of your entered information.” 

“You mean like hackers?”

“No, Dakota. The Templar’s record everything everyone in the world puts on social media because they  _ control _ social media. It's how they keep an eye on everything in the world; you all put information out so  _ willingly _ on the internet. It makes their jobs easier,” I shrugged. 

I left Dakota on that note, trying to find a new approach and convince her. I moved through the house to the kitchen, where Dakota’s mother was cooking dinner. Tabatha was a pretty woman, still dressed in her work clothes from the accounting office with her blonde hair pulled in a tight bun. The kitchen smelled of pesto and chicken, and as I neared the stove I noticed she also prepared pasta noodles. 

“Smells good, Tabatha,” I smiled.

“Oh, thank you, Colt. It’s actually Dakota’s favorite pasta dish and not my own recipe.”

“ _ Oh _ ? Wouldn’t happen to be from the Italian side at all,” I mused. 

Tabatha gave a small laugh as she pulled plates and wine glasses from the cabinets. 

“You must be very proud of your daughter. She seems like a very determined young lady. I was just speaking to her, but she was studying.”

Tabatha huffed, “I am proud of her…she reminds me of her father. But, I wish she would stop going to those college parties.”

“Parties, huh?”

She nodded and looked at me sadly, “I think she got mixed in with the wrong crowd. Before starting college she was  _ fine _ . Beautiful, laid back, and incredibly smart. Now she has tattoos, a habit of getting drunk, and she wastes her good looks on some guy I’ve yet to meet. I think she’s even messed around with using drugs. She sometimes reeks of weed when she comes home from parties.” 

“Rebellion at its finest,” I said, leaning against the wall.

Tabatha nodded, “Has she come around yet?”

I shook my head, “She’s been brushing the subject off. But, what do we expect from someone that finds out about the Assassins?” 

“Just keep trying…she  _ needs _ this.” 

  
  


Dakota returned home late in the afternoon the next day with a smile on her face. I had never witnessed the girl smile so brightly since my arrival, and I must say it made her appearance look better. She stood in the doorway- her brown eyes were bright, even under all of the black eyeliner she had on. 

“I passed my finals!” She announced, her black hair bouncing from side to side. 

“Congratulations, Dakota!” Her mother said with a smile.

With a dramatic huff, Dakota continued, “I thought I  _ bombed _ my test for Anatomy, but I got a hundred percent!” 

I raised an eyebrow,  _ ah, so she is smart _ . “Congratulations, that’s quite an achievement.” 

Tabatha smiled, “Dakota you always put yourself down. You’re incredibly intelligent; I don’t understand why you think you’ll do horrible.” 

Dakota rolled her eyes. 

  
  


That evening at dinner, I decided to try to sneak some more information out of Dakota on any hidden skills passed down her thick Assassin bloodline. 

“Dakota, have you ever had anything weird with your eyesight?”

She shrugged, “When I was a kid, I guess.”

“Oh? How is that?” 

“Well…I had this  _ thing _ I could do that made everything go…almost like the negative strips of camera film.”

My interest peaked, “Really, Dakota? What happened when you had this vision?”

She laughed a little, “I cried. I was only maybe five years old when it first happened. My dad told me it was okay, and that I just needed to focus. Like I would hear things and it was just…weird.” 

“ _ Hear _ things?” 

“Yeah, like a metallic noise. Oh, and stuff would glow.” 

“Do you use this ability often?”

Dakota laughed again, “Only when I get high-  _ uhh _ ,” her face turned red, “hy _ per _ . Too many Monster drinks, ya know?” 

I smirked, knowing that was not what she meant at all. “Why don’t you use your skill?”

“Well…I had told some of my friends in elementary school that I could do it. They didn’t believe me, but they made fun of me for it for  _ years _ . The teasing didn’t stop until high school ended.” 

“Oh, how…unfortunate.” 

Dakota shrugged again, “I got over it. I guess the kids thought my dad’s death was more of something to tease me about then my blue-vision issues.” 

“Oh…,” I wasn’t sure what to say; to be supportive or to be quiet was the question. “Well…the vision ability you have is actually a helpful tool for an Assassin. It is called Eagle Vision.”

She snorted, “ _ Eagle vision _ , eh?” 

“You should try to use it more often.”

“No thanks, that crap is  _ so  _ weird.” 

I rolled my eyes; Dakota was an impossible young lady.


	5. Four- Dakota

#  **_Four- Dakota_ **

“Sebastian, can I ask you something?” 

I was just about finished with my mid-shift at the gift shop, but I needed someone to take me seriously. My friends at college were automatically untrustworthy of an unbiased answer, either from friendship or weed, so I had to ask the love-struck kid I worked with; he was the only third party member in a time that I had a harsh decision to make. It was already a week down and I still couldn’t make up my mind, and I needed some sort of consulting. 

“Sure, Dakota, what’s on your mind?” 

“I was recently asked a really hard question and I can’t seem to balance out my pros and cons by myself.” 

“Is this a life-threatening decision or a what-color-should-you-dye-your-hair next type of question?”

I snorted, “it’s not ‘life-threatening.’ Or…well maybe, I’m not sure yet.”  Sebastian’s eyes grew wide, and I cut him off before he could even start.  “Anyway! My question is: if you were asked- or,  _ given _ the  _ opportunity,  _ to leave this place and move away…what would you do?”

Sebastian contemplated for a second, “Do you mean just pack up everything and leave tomorrow?” 

I nodded, “sort of like that.” 

For another moment, Sebastian mulled it over in his mind and biting his fingernails as he did. “I mean, who gets the chance to just get up and live all study-abroad style. That’s freakin’ sick as it is. But…to just, you know, quite frankly, screw everything and  _ leave _ ? It’s a little unrealistic.” 

“See, that’s what I’m faced with. Would you take it?” 

“I mean, I guess I would if things like a roof over my head and stuff like that was provided.” 

I smiled, “Seriously? You’d just say ‘fuck it’ and go? You would drop your friends and your job just to go live a life you don’t know?” 

“No joke, I would. But the thing is, Dakota, you have a lot more friends than me. You have a lot more things  _ going  _ for you than I do.”

I shrugged and let out a sigh, “Right now the only thing keeping me here is my mom.” 

I left the gift shop, Coca-Cola bottle in hand, and wondered my way over to Logan’s dorm. I knew I had The Shack to get ready for, but I just wanted to see him. After all, he was still my friend, but just with some extra perks. When I reached his room I could hear him raging over the new _Call of Duty_ , screaming curse words into his microphone. Pursing my lips and furrowing my brow at the door where the yells that sounded like pain and suffering were coming from, I hesitantly knocked. 

“Awe,  _ fuck _ !” A loud on-TV explosion went off, “Who is it?!” Logan yelled still filled with gamer rage. 

I looked at the door and put on my thickest case of sarcasm, “Peter Pan. Who the hell else would it be? Open the fuckin’ door.” 

A few sounds of  _ thud thud thud thud! _ and the door was wide open with Logan standing on the other side with a smile, “Smartass.” 

“Thanks, comes with the territory.” I entered the room, but as I tried to walk past Logan, he held out a stiff arm and wrapped me to his body. 

He pushed the door hard enough for it to close, “What’d you need to see me for, pretty lady?” 

I shrugged against his body, “I need to talk to you as a friend.” 

“Oh! Good, I needed to talk to you about something too.” 

Logan brought me over to the bed, and we sat down next to each other. I was mistaken when I thought Logan would be a gentleman and let me go first; instead, he carried on with his question. 

“Well…I’ve been thinking about how long we’ve been… _ friends _ . And I’ve been thinking about all the things we’ve…well  _ done _ .” Logan stammered. 

“Yeah,  _ so _ ?” I asked before I could control the venom in my voice.

Logan’s mouth twitched, “well…I want you to meet my family when I go back home to South Carolina this summer.”

I raised a quizzical eyebrow and snorted, “What would you introduce me as? You’re personal  _ puttana _ ?” 

He lowered his eyes to the floor, and I took the chance to sip on my soda, “No…I want to introduce you as my fiancé.” 

I gagged on my drink and spit some of it out, gasping for air. “You’re  _ what _ ?!” I uncoiled my legs from underneath me and stood up. 

“Please, Dakota, I really have fallen hard for you. Please,  _ please _ at least give it some thought!” 

I shook my head in disbelief, “Logan, what we have is  _ not  _ a relationship. I’m not marrying type, and nor is  _ this _ a relationship to get married in! Plus, we’re  _ fucking _ freshmen for God’s sake!” 

“But Dakota,” Logan pleaded, “You’re so  _ perfect _ ! Please, would you give it a few days? Would you think about it?” 

I shook my head, “No, Logan.”

“Why not?” His eyes were full of anger, and his voice was starting to rise, “Because you’re afraid of committing to someone? Because you’re afraid that I might actually  _ treat  _ you well?” 

I made my voice match his tone, “No! Because you would make a shitty boyfriend let alone a  _ husband _ ,” the word came out with such disdain it caused Logan to flinch. 

“A ‘ _shitty_ _boyfriend_?’ How do I deserve that status, huh?!” 

I made a grunt of disgust, “Hello? Are you  _ serious _ ? Do you ever try to come and hang out with  _ my  _ friends? Come meet  _ my  _ mother? Come the fuck on, Logan. The only thing I am to you is a free rough ride when you want one. So yes, you’d make a shitty anything.” 

I walked out of the room and slammed the door behind me, trying to forget the pained and shocked look on Logan’s face. I, too, had tried to forget the words that came out of my mouth just from anger. As I reached the end of the hallway, Logan was rushing after me, yelling for me to stop- but I kept walking. It wasn’t until I reached the stairwell that he caught up with me, grabbing my arm trying to make me stop. 

I turned on the spot and slapped his hand off of my arm, “Don’t touch me!” I growled and tried to continue on. 

“Please, Dakota,  _ please _ ! __ I love you!” 

That made me stop; I turned slowly to face him with a death look only female rage could bring, and shouted, “Don’t ever say that to me again! Do  _ not _ bring this guilt on me, Logan! Don’t even start!”

“Dakota…I just…I don’t understand! Why is it that every girl I know begs for relationships,” his voice faltered, “and you don’t want  _ anything _ to do with me?” 

I threw my head back and groaned. “It’s not  _ you _ , Logan. I don’t  _ like  _ relationships.  _ I  _ don’t like being held down by a guy; I don’t like being  _ claimed- _ ”

" _C_ _laimed_?!’ You think that a relationship is _claiming_ _someone_?! Jesus Christ, Dakota! I don’t want you as my _slave_ ; I want you as my wife!” 

I screamed, “That’s what a wife  _ is _ , damn it! A wife gives up  _ everything  _ to a man and I  _ will not be a victim _ !”

Logan became very still, and he looked very hurt. I wondered if I had crossed a line with him, as he had crossed a line with me. Simply, this is why “friends with benefits” could never a good idea for anyone; someone will always, in the end, become hurt and a friendship ruined. So quickly I had just watched a good friendship come crashing down and burst into flames. I looked at Logan with sadness as I knew this friendship was over, and then with anger, for I knew that no matter how the news had come to him about my apparent departure, this would have ended the same. 

Logan, with a voice filled with venom and conviction, whispered hoarsely, “you never had a problem of playing  _ my _ victim when you stepped into my bedroom.” 

I could feel my face turn red from both embarrassment and anger. 

I screamed at him as I rushed away, and out the door, “ _Vai a farti fottere! Arrivederci!"_ Go fuck yourself! Goodbye! 

  
  
  


Later that night, I was sitting on a beat-up couch at The Shack, a garage that my friends turned into a hideout, staring across the room to a full-bodied mirror propped up against the wall. I looked numb; shock finally set into my being that what little of a relationship I had with Logan was officially over. Now, I was faced with a fight between two of my friends that started about a week ago. It took a few minutes to sort everything out with the two boys, Nick and Justin, but one thing was clear- the two were done with each other. The fight was over something stupid, of course (something about a missing drum stick of Nick’s, and girlfriend problems of Justin), and I decided that neutralizing the situation was the best outcome.

My other friend, Alex, was sitting adjacent from me tapping his hands on his leg. 

Alex spoke first, “What a night, huh?”

I grunted, “Yeah, what a fucking disaster.” 

Flipping back his dyed black hair, Alex let out a deep breath in frustration. “You know, I knew something like this was going to happen.” 

I nodded, “Yeah, and Nick left with the weed.”

Alex laughed, “Damn it all. What’s wrong with  _ you _ tonight?”

I shrugged, “a lot of shit’s just been happening lately. Did you hear from Logan?” 

Logan and Alex had met at a college party and had become quick friends. They were known to have constant party chats on PlayStation, and I knew Logan would be fired up about today’s sequence of events.

Alex nodded his head, “He’s pissed.” 

“I don’t care. He shouldn’t be tryin’ to put a ring on it. I ain’t Beyonce,” I mocked Logan’s southern twang.

Alex laughed out loud, and it made me smile. 

Alex and I didn’t even find it to drink all night as usual. We watched some TV and made fun of reality stars for a few hours. No one else showed up to The Shack when word got around about the drama that occurred, leaving us without alcohol and weed for the night. Alex drove me home before midnight, singing along to loud music playing on the radio. 

Pulling into the short driveway to the garage, Alex sighed. 

“Well, Dakota…”

I sighed, “Yeah...” 

“It wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

In the dark, illuminated by a nearby streetlight, I shook my head and stared at the front door.  “Alex, would you leave this town if you got the chance? Start over?”

He made a noise to signal his disapproval, “I have my family here. And school, too, that’s a big thing.” 

“Yeah…I just feel like I have nothing left here, ya know? Like…if this town is trying to push me out of it. My degree really doesn't matter to me, I'm just doing it because...I don't know. When you're seventeen and a senior in high school they push you into making a choice. It seemed like a good choice...but my heart isn't into it.” 

Alex didn’t comment, which was probably for the best. 

“Alrighty,” I sighed, “Thank you for the ride home.” 

I removed my belongings from the car and waved to Alex as he put his car in reverse. I couldn’t tell if he waved back before he backed out of the driveway, but I felt as if I was watching another friend leave my life as he drove away.  What the actual fuck was going on anymore?  Goddamn it, all of this started when Colt showed up with his talk of Assassins and Templars. I just wanted nothing to do with it; I just wanted to eat my Curry noodles and have a late night out with friends who apparently didn’t give two shits about me anyway. At least it was the illusion of being wanted- being a part of something I found enjoyment in. As the taillights of Alex’s car disappeared from sight as he rounded the bend, I slowly collected myself and walked inside.

My mother and Colt were already asleep inside the house, leaving no lights on for my expected arrival home. I knew that in the morning no one would ask about how my day was or even my night went. My father was always the one to ask me about my day, he’d always listen to my stories and comment. He’d always remind me of how proud he was of his  _ Principessa _ . I walked quietly to my room and grabbed my yoga shorts and T-shirt that I was going to sleep in before shuffling my depressed self into the bathroom for a quick shower. 


	6. Five- Dakota

#  **_Five-Dakota_ **

I was beginning to feel the pressure for a decision to be made, both from my mother and Colt. There was only a week left before Colt returned to England, and I needed to have made my decision and packed away my things to leave. My mother wouldn’t voice her opinion about what I should do directly, but I desperately needed someone to give me advice, to tell me to go or stay. Colt was only interested in talking me into going to England with him. He was promising things like personal training sessions along with interesting classes that related to becoming an Assassin. 

“Why, all of a sudden, are the Assassin’s interested in schooling their disciples?” I asked boldly as we discussed the topic of my leaving. 

Colt screwed his face up as if he tasted something sour, giving me a harsh look.  “We’re trying to improve the Assassins. If we teach and work with our recruits they’ll have a better knowledge of the field. They can find special knacks, like working with computers or working in medical. It’s just like finding your favorite weapon to use.” 

Now it was my turn to look at him questionably, “A  _ favorite weapon _ ?” 

Colt nodded, “Well…yes. All Assassins’ find some type of weapon they choose to use over others. It’s something about the use of the weapon and the Assassin’s fighting style that clicks.” 

I rolled my eyes, “So you’re telling me that if I go, with no experience or knowledge of the Assassin’s that I’m going to do  _ just _ fine?” 

Colt nodded, “We would never send someone who wasn’t ready out into our line of work.” 

“Gee, how comforting,” I smirked and crossed my arms. 

“Dakota, I think you would be a wonderful Assassin. Really- I do, you just need some work and some classes to educate you.” 

“Listen,” I pinched the bridge of my nose between two fingers and closed my eyes. “I don’t like the idea of killing people. I don’t like it at all.” 

“Killing people?” Colt asked in a manner to prompt my explanation. 

I looked at him with a sneer and spoke with thick annoyance, “Yeah like it kind of goes against everything I set out to do as a nurse? You know, I like the idea of  _ saving  _ lives, not taking them?” 

“Dakota, we only kill Templars. We do not harm the innocent; it is part of our creed.” 

With a new interest, but still just a sour, I muttered, “And what is this  _ creed _ of yours?” 

“Nothing is true; everything is permitted.” 

I raised an eyebrow, “That’s it? What the hell does that even mean?”

Colt shook his head, “refer back to the inscription from Ezio Auditore.” 

“Oh yeah,” I rolled my eyes, “ _ that guy _ .” 

To me, Colt’s Creed was more like  _ Nothing makes sense; just go with it _ . I sighed and leaned my head back on the couch, still depressed from everything that has transpired through the day. All of the amounting stress made me just want to go back to the way my life was only a few weeks ago. I was better off not knowing about the Assassins and Templars anyway. So what if they came to kill me? I wouldn’t leave much behind for people to miss. Still, the thought of the Assassin’s made me want to dig for more concrete information.  __

I was quiet for a moment, “Who would be my trainer?”

“I would be for your private sessions. Other mentors teach skills classes and will work on the tactics you need. Each class is broken down into different areas of combat, weapons, and physical things like running and climbing. Then you can choose your elective classes; that’s how people find their knack within the Assassin’s.” 

“Sounds like a lot of work.” 

“That’s because it is,” Colt dropped his eyes, “but you may make a difference in the world.” 

I snorted and rolled my eyes, “Highly unlikely.” 

  
  


That evening, my mother was preparing for her date with Jason Carry- the man I now know as an Assassin. I was called into her room to help with the date-night preparation. Upon entering I found her dressed in a curve-hugging black dress, paired with black Stiletto high heels and a rosary with ruby-colored beads hanging from her neck. 

“Why, Tabatha Verdi, you look scandalous for your conservative self,” I laughed. 

My mother smiled lightly, peering at me from her mirror.

“Ready for me to do your hair?” 

“Oh, yes. I was just wondering, Dakota, would you curl my hair, and maybe we can do an up-do type thing?” 

I snorted, “Yes, we can  _ try _ .”

As I worked on curling my mother’s hair, I decided I needed to break into her mind about this Assassin business. 

“Mom…what do you think about this Assassin thing?” 

“What do you mean?” She asked quietly. 

I sighed, “I mean…should I do this?” 

My mother didn’t reply for a few moments, but she turned towards me when she did.

“Dakota, you are a strong and smart young lady. I know you weren’t brought up knowing about the Assassin’s, and that’s mostly my fault. I didn’t want to lose you like I knew I was going to lose your father. I didn’t understand the war between the Assassin’s and Templar’s then; I didn’t think it would last this long. See, they’ve been fighting for thousands of years, sweetie; a constant struggle that’s been erased out of  _ all _ those history books you’ve read in school.  Has it ever come across to you that there seemed to be  _ holes _ in history? Unexplained reasons that people died or how power shifted from one hand to another? For instance, take the American Revolution- the Colonists really  _ shouldn’t  _ have been able to defeat the King’s Army by experience and equipment supply. So  _ what _ changed the tides? The Assassin’s, Dakota; they are throughout our history. The Templars are always behind it, too. And the crazy part about it all? The Templar’s and Assassin’s are fighting for almost the _ same thing _ , but the Assassins want people to choose for themselves, and the Templar’s want to take that ability away- to enrich themselves and gain power by killing anyone who gets in their way.  Dakota, I have witnessed the evil of these Templars. They’ve killed your father’s entire family because they  _ thought _ differently and fought back. The entire Verdi family, as far back as the renaissance in Rome, has been a family dedicated to the Assassins. It is up to  _ you _ why you wish to follow or not- revenge, knowledge, to fulfill what your father started…or not. They practice what they preach, and have left the choice for  _ you _ .” 

“Thank you, mom,” I bent down and hugged her, careful not to burn her with the curling iron in my hand. 

Not long after my mother left for her date with Jason Carry, Colt went out to do some “spy work” in the heart of political Washington D.C., leaving me alone in the house. After a week like this, I wanted a drink. Furiously texting my friends at the college, I asked around about end-of-the-year parties and who was all in attendance; one girl named came through with a location. 

As quickly as I could, I threw on some party clothes- tight black leggings with a strip of almost completely see-though black lace on the sides, a form-fitting neon yellow top with a heavy-duty push-up bra underneath, and my bright pink Chuck Taylor’s. I hurried through my hair with a flat iron and threw on some makeup before grabbing my skateboard and heading for the party. 

When I arrived, a grabbed a beer from one of the coolers on the porch and cracked it open. From inside the frat house radiated loud, pulsing music and a cheesy disco ball sending spots of colored light in circles. People had glow sticks left and right waving to the beat of the overbearing music. I joined the dancers, chugging my beer down without a care.

A few hours later I was drunk as  _ hell _ ; grinding on a guy whose name I didn’t even know to some rap song I couldn’t make out through the bass. It had to be well past two in the morning when flashing red and blue lights started to cause a panic. At that moment, I was too drunk to understand what was happening and started laughing. When the kitchen door was kicked in and the cops started to flood the place, I started to realize that for one, I was underage and drunk to the moon and back, and for two, I needed to get the hell out of this house. The kid I was dancing with had already left for the back door, and I went to follow his example when a cop car pulled up in the backyard. 

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled. 

I had never been in this house, and very quickly my options running out. I moved faster as my mind started to clear a little to think straight from all of the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I looked for some other option when I found a staircase leading upstairs too, presumably, the bedrooms. 

Through the rushing crowd, I pushed my way through until I made it up the staircase, lined with a few passed out kids with spilled drinks and-  _ oh sweet baby Jesus _ \- puke, all down the carpeting. Carefully stepping over the laying bodies and puddles of… _ yuck _ , I made it to the second floor, stealing a glance downstairs to the ever-advancing policemen. 

The first room I found was a bathroom, which would be the easiest place to be caught. I needed a place to hide until the cops cleared off. I moved from room to room looking for a good-sized closet or even a high enough bed that I could squeeze under, but low enough the cops wouldn’t look underneath. One of the rooms that I found with the perfect size bed was currently occupied with a couple in quite the drunken embrace. 

I kept moving, listening to the police start up the stairs through the pounding of my heart. I found the laundry room with a washer and dryer, a small supply closet, and a tall and wide laundry-bin full of clothes. I was running out of options, and there was no window. The cops were closing in, so I made my choice. 

Grabbing clothes out of the basket, I stepped inside and curled my legs in as tightly as my anatomy would allow before bringing the clothes on top of me and all around me. Making sure there were no holes in the clothes above me, I quickly pushed a few shirts up against the slots in the hamper so my face and shoes were hidden. In this tightly squeezed position, it was hard to breathe, both from clothes slowly falling onto my face, and the restriction of the area in my chest for my lungs to fill. 

I heard approaching footsteps in the hall. Door by door, the cop moved into each room and began a sweep for any hidden party goers. I also heard the yelps of the naked and drunk couple down the hall as they were intruded on by a policeman. 

The footfalls entered the laundry room, and through the clothes, I could see the light of a flashlight. The cop moved around the room and opened the doors to both the washer and dryer, along with the storage closet. 

“Let’s go, boys! House is cleared,” Said the cop in the laundry room with me. 

****

It was late Sunday evening while in my room on my laptop looking through some of my old high school pictures on Facebook, listening to music, and forgetting about the day. Colt was in the other room, readying his things to leave the very next evening, and I was glad. I did not accept his recruitment into the Assassins; I had quite a lot here still left to achieve, none of which asked me to take lives and live a life of secrecy. 

Colt was not pleased with my refusal, but he could not force me to become an Assassin. He had to practice what he preached and allow me to have my free-will, he could not force his ideals upon me and he had to accept that with grace. My mother seemed unshaken by my denial. For myself, I wanted no part in the Assassins beyond the knowledge that my father was part of some order with a creed. I would like to learn more about my father’s endeavors- however dark and disturbing they might be, so one day I could understand why he was taken from me. 

The Templar’s seemed to be a constant presence in the world, along with the Assassin’s, so why would  _ my _ involvement make any difference in the ongoing war? The answer was, to me at least, simple: I would make no difference. I was just a nineteen-year-old girl with no prior knowledge of the conflicts between the two Orders. I had no training or any means of influence throughout my life to make me an asset to the Assassins. At last, I had someone to blame for my dad’s death, someone to hate instead of being angry at God and the entire world as I had for these past several years. 

About a quarter past one in the morning, I decided it was time for bed. I pulled out my headphones and shut down my laptop for the night. As I started to change out of my clothes, there was a loud crashing noise that sounded like glass breaking somewhere in the house. I pulled on my jeans again and started to slowly move to my door and out into the hallway. My mother was good for breaking a wine glass now and again, but the glass I heard had been much more in abundance. As I neared the kitchen, there was a loud, high pitched scream followed by the deafening noise of a gunshot. I turned the corner in time to see my mother fall back to the floor, and two men standing at the entry of the front door. In shock, I stood wide-eyed. I had no idea one of the men had turned his gun upon me until I was grabbed from behind, shaking me out of my trance.

“Dakota! Move!” Colt yelled.

The gunman pulled the trigger as Colt pulled me back. 

The bullet whizzed past me as I was pulled to the floor. Colt, with a pistol in hand, pressed his back against the wall and looked around. Another gunshot rang out from the intruders; Colt returned fire several times before he moved from his position. I sat myself up and crawled to the corner to look down the hallway. Colt was running out of the door after the two intruders. My mother was gasping for air from her sprawled position on the floor. I crawled to her side, my heart pounding in my chest with every move I made. As I inched closer to her, I started to feel wetness on the floor that covered my hands and soaked into my jeans.  _ Blood _ . 

She was taking shallow and ragged breaths as I approached her. In the minimal light of the house cast by a streetlamp, I could see the bullet hole in her chest. She was bleeding so heavily that the air smelled of iron- it made me sick to my stomach. Her eyes were distant, even when she was looking straight at me. 

“Dakota,” her voice was raspy. 

She reached for me, her arm shaking as she did so. I took her outstretched hand that was clenched into a fist. Releasing her tight fist, she placed something in my hand and closed my fingers over the object. As she brought her hand back to her midriff, her breathing was slow and sounded of gargling blood. 

“ _ Mom _ ,” my voice caught in my throat. 

“Join…” she breathed as deeply as she could, “Assassin’s.” 

“ _ Mom _ I don’t think I  _ can _ .” 

It was a feeble attempt; I knew she was gone with her last shuttered, gargled exhale. 

I looked down at what my mother had handed to me. Inside my blood-soaked hand was her rosary with red glass beads affixed to a silver centerpiece and matching crucifix. It was the same rosary she wore at every Catholic mass when I was a child. Instantly, I began to say my Hail Mary’s as I kneeled beside my mother’s body. I felt tears stream down my face as I recited through each rosary for the first time in years. 

I wasn’t sure when Colt returned, but he was now accompanied by my mother’s boyfriend, Jason Carry, and his son, Greg. Jason was furious and frustrated. Colt was pacing back and forth. Greg was outside on the phone with 911. I sat on the floor with my knees hugged to my chest in my mother’s blood. Her rosary was wrapped tightly around my hand while I stared at my mother lying on the floor. 

Once the emergency crews arrived, I was pulled into questioning by police while my mother’s body was being bagged. When my interrogation was completed, Colt was next in line for questioning. Jason had made last-minute arrangements at his house a few streets down for Colt and me to stay in since my home had just been announced a homicide scene. I walked with a police officer to the Carry household, and he offered me his sympathies that I only honored with an upwards twitch of my lips, a failed attempt at a smile of thanks. I took a seat in the kitchen, still very well aware that my hands and jeans were stained red. 

Looking down at my mother’s rosary, I started to rethink my own life. I thought about the drunken nights, the hits of weed, the meaningless sex; that would shame my father. I started to mull on the memories of the parties I attended and all of the things I did that I regretted; my mother raised me better than that. I even started to rethink what I had said to Logan, the thought of love being a ridiculous, meaningless, useless entity that enslaved people. Was there something to fight for with love? I wanted revenge for my father, and now wanted revenge for my mother’s murder. Without my parents’ love for one another, I would not exist…but, maybe they’d still be alive in that case. 

My thoughts took me back to elementary school when I told my friend that I could change my vision; I know now that it is called Eagle Vision. She laughed at me and told her friends, who in turn started to tease me so badly I would cry every morning before school. I remembered my dad would take me in his arms and tell me that everything was going to be alright. I remembered my mother’s face when I would come home and burst into tears, fresh off the bus after being teased the entire way home. For years I was made fun of for my comment on the playground. The teasing ceased in middle school for a little while, only to return in high school after my father was murdered. During my freshmen year, I remember kids making remarks about my father’s death, and the big deal I made about them shutting up and leaving me alone. No one showed me any sympathy except for a few teachers. Now that my mother was dead, I didn’t have any family or friends to comfort me. All I had now was Colt and the Carry’s to watch over me for the next few hours, then God knows what else might happen. 

Someone cleared their throat, causing me to jump.

Greg was standing in the threshold of the kitchen, “Dakota?”

I looked up to the tall kid with blonde hair and a pale white complexion.

“Are you okay?”

I sneered in response and returned my gaze to the rosary, shaking my head.

Greg was quite for a second; “I hope you can come to understand the distance I kept from you in high school after your father…” he trailed off.

“Why would I care about that right now? I’m more concerned about  _ why  _ you’re taking such an interest in talking to me  _ now _ after all these years.” My voice was filled with acid. 

“I stayed away because your father was my mentor and you had no idea what an Assassin was.” 

I shot him a look, “I wish it stayed that way. The Assassin part, I mean.” 

“Dakota, the men who broke into your house-”

“Dakota!” Colt said as he moved into the home, “The police would like to talk to you again- downtown.” 

I stood up, “What?” 

“They’re taking you in the cop car to the headquarters. I’m sorry, but they’re not finished questioning you yet. And, get your hands cleaned up.” 

  
  


The interrogation room I was held in was nothing like what I expected. It was a small room on the third floor, with whitewashed walls, a water cooler in the corner, and a desk with three chairs. One security camera was fixed on me from above the heavy metal door. I sat in the chair facing the door and camera, waiting for the two cops to return as I anxiously rubbed my hands together. I thought I was going to be in an office filling out papers, going over what I had witnessed, and figuring out my mother’s burial. Instead, I found myself in an interrogation room where they ask criminals questions as if I had done the deed myself.

Finally, the door opened and the two cops entered, closing the door and exchanging looks with one another. The first cop, a shorter man with a bald head and deep-set eyes sat down on my left and leaned back in his chair, looking me over. The second cop was tall and lean with blonde hair and tired-looking blue eyes; he sat across from me. 

“Dakota Alexia Verdi, correct?” Asked the first cop. 

“Yes,” I said nervously. 

“I am Major Mike Dunning, and this is my partner, Officer Erik Huntington. We’re going to ask you a series of questions, some you may have already answered before.”

Major Dunning went through my rights once again as the previous officers had before at the scene. The two cops wanted a detailed story from me of the incident before divulging into their questions. After I told them what had happened, they started to slowly pick apart my narrative, getting the story straight. They then proceeded to ask the same questions as they had at my home, and I answered just the same. Then…the two shared looks.

“Your father, what did he do for a living?” Major Dunning asked.

“He was a businessman for some big company.” 

“You do not know the company?” 

I shook my head, “I was a kid. I didn’t pay attention.” 

“Uh-huh,” Another exchange of looks, “How did he die?”

“Murder. He was shot during a bank robbery.” 

Officer Huntington nodded once, “Do you know any reason why he would have been targeted?” 

I shook my head and lied, “No, sir. None at all.” 

The two looked at each other, and Officer Huntington smirked. I didn’t like that smirk. It was at that moment that I started to feel unsafe in this situation; I felt as something was wrong. Officer Huntington reached down and detached his pistol from his belt. He held up the pistol and cocked it before placing it on the table.    
Major Dunning rested his arms on the table and smirked at me. “Come now, Dakota. You don’t know  _ any  _ reason why your father was targeted?” 

I eyed him, “Why do you care so much about my dad? He’s dead and has been so for a good while now. My mom’s the freshly murdered one.” 

The smirk was wiped from the Major’s face, “You best-”

The heavy metal door slammed open, and Colt burst into the room. The proceedings happened in a blur; Colt grabbed hold of Officer Huntington and the two began a very quick fight before Colt somehow was stabbed the man in the abdomen with a knife I could not see. Major Dunning reacted the same moment the door burst open and Colt stabbed Huntington; Dunning grabbed the back of Colt’s hoodie, but Colt deflected him. Dunning threw a right hook which Colt used the back of his hand to block. Colt grabbed Dunning’s wrist with his right hand and used his left hand to hit a spot beside the larger man’s elbow. Colt quickly followed up with a sharp punch to the man’s neck. Dunning was stunned by the two blows that he had no time to react before Colt wrapped his left arm around his neck. Bringing back his free right hand, Colt used the same unnoticeable knife to stab Major Dunning in the back. 

Colt turned to me, “We gotta go.” 

Colt rushed me back to my house where Jason and Greg Carry met us. I was instructed to pack away as much clothing as possible and gather any of my electronics that could connect to the internet- phone, laptop, anything, and give them up to Greg. As quickly as possible, I threw my clothes into a carry-on bag along with my small makeup bag and hairbrush I changed out of my bloodied clothes and left them on the floor.  I placed my mother’s rosary around my neck and tucked it under my shirt.  I found my favorite white hoodie and pulled it on before looking around my room and shutting the lights off. I grabbed my camera sitting on the piano in the living room and hid it in my bag. I then scooped up the thick leather book of my father’s that was still sitting on the dining room table. When I returned outside, Greg was awaiting open-handed for my precious electronics with a mysterious Louisville Slugger over his shoulder. 

I looked at him wide-eyed, “What are you going to do?”

Greg took the electronics from me and placed them gently on the driveway before viciously smashing them to plastic pieces. 

Jason approached me as Greg smashed the hell out of my electronics, “The Templar’s are hunting you. They’ll track you faster if you have those with you.” 

I looked at him, “Wait…where are you taking me?” 

Colt stepped over, “We need to get you out of the country. We will be relocating you to the base.”

“But I-I didn’t-Wait…they’re  _ what _ ?!”

Jason frowned at me, “Your father was a very important and influential Assassin; a Master and Mentor. The Templar’s will either silence you or capture you for their projects at Abstergo.” 

“ _ Abstergo _ ?” I repeated, completely lost.

“We’ll explain on the way,” Colt said, “right now, we need to get you away from here.” 

“But what about my mother!” I exclaimed with tears of frustration welling.

Jason sighed, “You won’t be able to see her funeral, Dakota. I’m so sorry, but we need to keep you safe.” 

“Did someone give her last rights?” 

No one answered me.

“Someone needs to give my mom her last rights, damn it!” I yelled at the three.

Jason hurried me to the car, “We will take care of everything, Dakota. I promise.” 

I started to cry again as I climbed into the backseat of the car.

Jason sat in the backseat with me en route to the airport. He explained to me that the Templar’s owned a multi-billion dollar industry called Abstergo Industries. The Templar’s created a machine that could use a person’s DNA to “bring history to life” by projecting an ancestor’s memories. The Templar’s were hunting down Assassin’s to reveal the secrets stored within their ancestor's memories for their own gain. Most of the time they were hunting precursor artifacts, something called the Apple of Eden, that had the ability for the beholder to control people. Jason explained to me that my bloodline was precious to the Templar’s for how far my family has come. He also theorized that the Templars did not know how much I knew about my father’s dealings, and therefore could just view me as a threat to eliminate. 

“The two cops who took you in for questioning were the same two men who murdered your mother. I didn’t make the connection until they took you. I do apologize,” Colt said from the driver’s seat. 

I was quite; unable to speak. 

“The Templar’s are tricky bastards. Clever, tricky, bastards with deep pockets,” Jason commented. 

I sighed, “So where are you taking me?” 

Colt answered, “We are taking you to the Assassin Base in England.” 

“There’s a problem: I don’t have a passport.” 

Greg held up something in the passenger seat, “You’re already covered.” 

I raised an eyebrow but did not comment. 

The ride went along for a few more minutes without speaking. Jason looked out the window while Greg and Colt stared out the windshield. My mind was buzzing with the developments of this night from hell. Seriously, what the actual fuck just happened? My mother was dead, my life was threatened by Templar’s- twice- and now I was in the mist to flee the country. 

“Colt, this base,” I said nervously, “They’ll train me even if I know nothing?” 

“Yes, they will. You’re not the first to be recruited there with no experience.” 

I sighed heavily and pulled my fingers through my hair. 

“Dakota,” Greg turned around to look at me in the darkness of the car, “many of us do not get this opportunity. And right now, I think you should learn how to defend yourself.” 

For a few moments, I said nothing for I was weighting my limited options. 

“Fine. I’m in.” 


	7. Six- Dakota

#  **_Six- Dakota_ **

I clung onto my bag as I overlooked the lush green grass expanding towards the large building that was the Assassin Base. It still had the look of an old hospital- more like a psychiatric ward if anything. I didn’t quite expect this place to be so humongous or look so out of place in the neighborhood. The community the base was settled in had a small-town vibe to it, and it made me wonder how people didn’t know about the happenings inside the large building. 

“Don't the Templar's know about this place?” I asked nervously.   
“Oh no, they know,” Colt answered nonchalantly. 

“Then why don’t they try to attack it?” 

“The Templar’s may have the media by the balls, but when eyewitnesses of the community go to social media and have an uproar on terrorism in their small community, it’s a little hard to cover up.” 

“So what…you’re all like…hiding in plain sight?”

Colt smiled widely, “That is the way of an Assassin.” 

Colt led me forward as he explained a few things about what to expect. Students here varied of all ages from all over the world. Some of these students were brought up with the knowledge of the Assassin’s throughout their entire life and moved here after Assassin Camp liberations. Others, like me, started with no training or insight into the Creed. Colt handed me a map of the facility and explained that the two main floors had more of the school-atmosphere components. The first floor was dedicated to the cafeteria, an auditorium, the library; two gymnasiums, and about half of the “general education” classrooms. The second floor was mostly computer technology classrooms along with the biology labs. 

The third floor held the IT and security rooms, a student lounge on the one side, and the health wing on the other. Student dorms were arranged on both sides of the clock tower, four floors above ground, and two additional floors that followed the school's complex underground. The second underground level was where I could find the laundry room and a storage supply room for essentials. There was enough housing that each student received private rooms unless requested otherwise. Colt even let on that I had a larger room on the corner of the fourth floor, with my own bathroom included. 

Once inside, Colt jetted off to a corner office without a word. When he returned, he handed me a schedule for my first six-week module of classes. 

_ Everyday _

_ 0600-0730: Breakfast- Cafeteria  _

_ 1200-1330: Lunch- Cafeteria _

_ 1800-1930: Dinner- Cafeteria _

_ Monday- Friday _

_ 0800-0930: American History- Room 110 _

_ 1000-1130: Intro to Survival- Room 255 _

_ 1430-1600: Combat Basics- Gym 2 _

_ Thursday _

_ 2000: Private Training- Gym 2 _

_ Saturday _

_ 0900-1100: Equestrian- Meet outside at Clock Tower  _

_ Sunday _

_ 1400-1600: Medical Aid Basics- 330 _

“Any questions?” Colt asked as he led me to an elevator bank.

“Uh…” I blinked down at the schedule, “Do I start these classes tomorrow?”

He nodded as the elevator doors opened, “You’ve missed the first day of new classes, but that’s alright.” 

I sighed as I stepped into the elevator after Colt. 

Colt led me to my room on the fourth floor. He handed me a keycard for me to swipe to unlock the door; I walked inside and found the light switch on the wall. The room had white walls and a dark purple carpet. There was a single window, a wooden vanity set, a built-in closet, and another door I presumed to be the bathroom. The bed was large and centered on the far wall with white fluffy sheets and pillows. Next to each side of the queen bed sat two identical nightstands with small lamps and an alarm clock. Moving my gaze around, I found that close to the bathroom door was a wooden desk and chair, and a bookshelf with textbooks labeled for the according to classes on my schedule. On the wall above the desk hung a small flat-screen television facing the bed.

“Welcome to the Assassin’s Base, Dakota. Do you need anything before I go?” 

I shook my head.

“Dakota, you should do yourself a favor and remove all of your piercings. In your combat classes, they are the first thing people will try to rip off your face.” 

I removed all of the piercings before Colt left the room, feeling too defeated to put up much of a fight.

The emptiness of the room reminded me of the empty feeling stationed inside myself. Something inside of me had changed more than the overwhelming depression amounting and the numbing sensation of heartache. My mother was dead, and I was alone. Alone in a new country, on the run from villains I never even knew existed. 

I started to unpack my clothes and hang them on the provided hangers in the closet. I moved into the bathroom to find that basic toiletries were provided and awaiting orderly on the sink. There was a clothes hamper in the bathroom, and a cabinet filled with fresh towels that made the room smell of linen. 

After I finished packing, I looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand to find it was almost six o’clock and dinner was going to be served. I finished my unpacking and left my room, making sure I had my keycard before latching the door. 

By the time I reached the cafeteria, it was packed with students I looked around the large room set up with circular tables near the center, and the buffet-style serving stations around the outsides. Students were both sitting at tables with trays of food, and others were still standing in line. I followed the student in front of me who grabbed a tray near the threshold of the cafeteria and moved into line. I was well aware that people were looking at me; they discovered the new girl in their midst. With the slow speed of the line, I looked over my options at each buffet station and only found a few things to eat; a dinner roll, a small serving of pasta, and a tossed salad. I grabbed a water bottle from a cooler at the end of the buffet line and turned to find a seat. I scanned the room for any open options and moved slowly through the crowd. There was only one vacant table near the back, and I went for it. I sat my tray down and glanced around the room again, but everyone seemed to stop caring I existed. 

I started to eat my dinner when a group of students came to the table and sat down. They were all caught up in a conversation, not paying any mind to me. I stopped eating from sheer social anxiety. One of the guys, tall with blonde hair, made eye contact with me and smirked.

“What? Do we intimidate you?” The blonde asked. 

I blinked and looked around at the strangers, “Uh…” 

“I think that might be a yes,” said a red-haired kid with an English accent. 

The group looked at me and chuckled.

I could feel my face turn beat red as I dropped my eyes to my tray. 

The group had no intention of talking to me. I slowly started to pick at my pasta and salad, but soon found that the presence of the students diminished my appetite. I picked my tray up and left the group. I no longer wanted to spend time surrounded by curious eyes and rude attitudes. I picked up my untouched dinner roll and bottle of water, throwing away the rest of my food, and returned to my bedroom.

The next morning, I skipped breakfast after the cold welcome I received at dinner. I dressed, brushed my hair, and completed my make-up before starting the journey to my first-period class. With my map, schedule, and American History textbook in hand, I moved through the Base to the classroom on the first floor. Students were waiting outside the door; I kept my distance and stared down at my feet. The teacher parted the group of students and unlocked the door, ushering her students into the room. 

“Dakota Verdi?” She asked softly as I passed her. 

“Uh…yes?” I answered nervously.

“I’m Mentor Deborah August. Welcome to the base,” she smiled and held her arm out as to usher me into the room. 

I found an empty seat near the back of the classroom as Mentor August situated herself in front of the class to begin the lecture. She instructed us to open our books to Chapter Two- The Seven Years War. As the lecture went on, I quickly discovered that I was learning a lot more than just French and Indian War, but the struggle of the Assassin’s and Templar’s during the time period. About halfway through the lecture, I realized my mouth was slightly agape in shock of what holes of history had been filled; everything made sense.

When the first period ended, I slowly fumbled my way to Intro to Survival class. I was among the first few people inside the classroom and took a vacant seat in the back. About five minutes before class was to begin, the mentor walked in and started to shuffle papers on his desk. He was a tall man with blonde hair, younger than Mentor August. Suddenly the man stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. 

“You must be Dakota,” he stated smoothly with an American Southern drawl. 

I looked up shyly and shook his hand, “I am.”

“Mentor Dustin Brook; just call me Mr. Dustin. It’s truly a pleasure to have you here. Come to my desk after class and I’ll give you a typed copy of the notes you missed yesterday.” 

“Uh…thank you,” I said as he turned and moved back to his desk. 

The rest of the class filed inside while Mr. Dustin wrote notes on the board. On the very top of the whiteboard “DAY TWO” was written in red while below that had words such as  _ gather _ ,  _ hunt _ ,  _ store _ , and  _ locate _ . I opened my notebook and started to write down what Mr. Dustin was putting on the board exactly as he had it set up. When he finished writing his categories, he opened his lecture with a recap of apparently “day one” of being stranded or lost somewhere. He reminded the class that humans can live without food for a little more than three weeks, three or four days without sleep, and only three days without water. Mr. Dustin also commented on the conditions of when and where a stranded person’s lonely predicament; if caught in a harsh winter environment the chances of death without shelter are unavoidable. For this particular episode, the class was focusing on being stranded in the woods. 

“Now class, what body temperature is considered a hypothermic state?” 

“Anything under ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit or thirty-five degrees Celsius,” I answered automatically before I could stop myself. 

“Good, now what happens when you reach that state, Dakota?” 

I felt as if the entire class was looking at me; my face was turning red. “Well…when your body is that cold your nervous system, heart, and other organs can’t function properly. So the body systems start to shut down.” 

“Can you tell me some tall-tell symptoms?” Mr. Dustin prompted. 

“ _Uh_ , how severe are we talking?”

Mr. Dustin smiled, “let’s say moderate hypothermic.” 

“So, you’ll shiver, of course. You start to lose your coordination, your speech could be slurred, confusion, and low energy. As your systems start to slow, so will things like your pulse and breathing rates.” 

“It sounds like a drunken person,” Mr. Dustin joked to the class which let out a low course of laughter.

“A very  _ cold _ drunk,” I commented mostly to myself; those close enough to hear snickered. 

Mr. Dustin went forward with his lecture and continued onwards until the end of the period. I stopped at his desk as I had been instructed to do so earlier. Mr. Dustin handed me the typed outline of notes of “DAY ONE,” along with a class syllabus that broke down every day in the six-week module. He took the time to explain everything to me, including his belief that learning to survive as a matter of hands-on learning, but the first week was meant to engage the students and make them aware of how to survive five days on their own. I looked over the class calendar; week one was indeed a breakdown of what to expect each of the five days in the wilderness. Week two started the hands-on portion such as learning how to make fire, finding or making shelter, and how to find a proper water source. Week three, the midterm week, called for stepping out of the classroom with the goals of learning the difference between plants that can harm you and the plants that you can eat. Week four would include learning how to set traps and snares, while week five was committed to the ways of properly packing a hiking backpack, and how to set up a campsite correctly to animal-proof it. The final week was the most surprising- either the student’s choice between a paper test on Friday or taking a camping trip with Mr. Dustin and the rest of the classmates who take this option. 

“And other teachers are okay with this?” I asked about the camping trip.

“Some are and some are not. That is why it is not mandatory to go, but if you did decide to go along you have to make sure it is okay with all of your teachers. The trip starts Monday morning and we would return Thursday afternoon.” 

I nodded, “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Dustin.” 

“Not a problem, Dakota. If you ever need anything let me know.” 

I went back to my room to drop off my belongings before heading to the cafeteria, where I simply grabbed what I wanted to eat and returned to my room. I quietly ate my food and flipped through the channels on the TV before settling on some daytime hospital soap opera. Once I finished eating, I readied myself for my Combat Basics class. I was most nervous about this class since I have no background in fighting or any previous training. The thought of getting my ass kicked in class on a daily bases was terrifying, to say the least. 

Slowly, I walked to Gym Two, where people were already filling into the locker rooms. I stood near the door for a few moments and examined the gym. It had a high ceiling with metal rafters hanging from above. The floor and walls were completely covered in thick blue padding, excluding the far left wall that was made into a climbable rock wall. The second story of the gym had a small catwalk around the perimeter with mirrors wrapping around the room.

“Two-way mirrors,” A man said from behind me. 

I jumped and turned to look at the man.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked, “Mentor Erik Ackermann. You’re Dakota Verdi, no?”

I nodded, “I am. Do you teach this class?”

“I do, along with Mentor De. He helps teach martial arts to students struggling to grasp the concepts in class.” 

“Well…he might be seeing a lot of me,” I sighed, looking around the room again. “Two-way mirrors, you said?” 

“Yes, the recruiters and mentors like to observe the progress of students. We also film each class session and take careful notes on everyone.” 

“I see,” I nodded slowly. “How are we graded in these classes?” 

Mentor Erik smiled, “We grade based on progression and attitudes. Your final consists of performing one skill for me and Mentor De to grade upon.” 

“ _ Attitudes _ ?” I asked, confused about how an attitude could possibly affect a class grade.

“If a student is refusing to learn or is fearful in their own abilities, we will have them repeat the course. One is to make the student understand how strict we can be, and the other is to reinforce while building confidence.” 

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” 

The class started a few minutes later. Mentor Erik started to pair every student with a partner but soon found out that he had an odd number. I just happened to be the only one without a partner.

“Dakota, you’ll just be paired up with me then,” Mentor Erik smiled.

My eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment, “Okay.” 

Mentor De stepped into the middle of the gym and began reciting instructions. We were learning how to defend ourselves, or as the Mentor’s called it- 360 Self Defense. We were instructed to keep moving at all times during the drill, otherwise a weakness could be found. Mentor Erik explained we needed to use our arms to defend blows, and keep them at a particularly wide-angle. He stressed that we all needed to keep our hands open and flat during these exercises as a building block to what else was to come in our lessons. Everyone was instructed to practice defending their partner’s blows for two minutes. I turned to Mentor Erik completely petrified as Mentor De started the clock.

“Please, God, don’t hurt me,” I said.

He laughed, “I promise I won’t.”

Mentor Erik started the exercise easy; bringing his extended arms down slowly as I deflected each with my own arms. He started to pick up the pace and would switch from swinging high to low and vice versa. By the end of the two-minute drill, we were the fastest two in the gym. The class moved onward in the lesson to the topic of attacking. They began to teach us how to see a punch coming, how to throw a punch and progressed into how to defend yourself in a headlock. At the end of class, my arms felt heavy, and there was an ache in my hands from punching life-like dummies. Mentor Erik was impressed for how well I did and I nervously laughed; I just didn’t want my ass handed to me on my first day of class. 

Through the next few days, I learned about the Templar influence over the colonies and the American Revolution, how desperate you have to be to survive in the wilderness, and how to properly defend myself against a knife and pistol. I started to make friends with a few people in my history class. The first person I befriended was Marc, an Assassin-bred kid from Canada. He introduced me to Amy, a British girl who, like me, was new to the Assassins. They accepted me enough to invite me to sit with them at meals, where I met the rest of their crew. There was Sofia from Spain, who was an Assassin for five years and placed at the base to refine her IT skills. Secondly, there was James, an Assassin from the state of Washington who had been rescued from the clutches of the Templar’s at Abstergo Industries. I was happy I had people to talk too, as my room was getting quite lonesome by Tuesday night’s dinner, but I still wasn’t quite myself around these new acquaintances. 

Thursday was my first private training with Colt in Gym Two. We refined things that I had been taught in my combat classes according to what Mentor Erik and Mentor De had reported in their progress notes. Once Colt went over the things I had learned in class, he introduced me to running and climbing. He timed each running and climbing exercise I did and made a note of my execution and timing. The goal Colt set for me was to improve my running and climbing times before moving on to more complicated things such as parkour and wall ejects. For the remainder of my private training, Colt took me to the weight room to work on my strength and conditioning. 

The only two classes I still needed to participate in were Equestrian on Saturday and Medical Aid on Sunday. Saturday morning I met with the rest of the Equestrian class and learned how to take care of the horses. Afterward, we were all able to go out on a small ride to get a feel on what it was like to ride a horse. Medical Aid was with Doctor Means and his head nurse, Ava. They went over basic things such as medical instruments, proper handwashing, and how to sterilize equipment. 

At the end of my first week, I felt exhausted. I crawled onto my bed after the end of my Sunday class and tried to relax. I had much to learn, and a lot of strength to build up. 


	8. Seven- Dakota

#  **_Seven- Dakota_ **

“Jesus, can you give me a second?” I was panting, almost ready to puke. 

Private lessons with Colt, I quickly learned, were brutal. He pushed my limits too far until I was collapsed on the floor dry heaving. After three months of this intense CrossFit-gone-wrong, one would think you would get used to it. But it seemed every lesson was increasingly getting worse as if he was trying to push me through training by six years. Colt claimed he was catching me up to the status I should have been if my dad had trained me all these years. I called bullshit, but I gave up fighting and just submitted myself to these workouts designed by Satan himself. 

The first few private lessons reinforced what I learned in my Self Defense classes. Colt moved onto gymnastics for a few lessons and then worked on my running speed until I completed a 100-meter dash in thirteen seconds. The worst part of the training was learning the style and technique of parkour. I was starting to become fast enough, but Colt still pressured me into jumping higher, reaching farther, reacting quicker. He would request that I took extra time out of my day- time I didn’t have with my homework load this semester- to hit the gym and lift weights until my arm wanted to fall out of their sockets. I was making progress, but not enough to impress my recruiter. 

Today’s lesson started me with weapons, sword fighting to be exact. There was no starting out slow and casual, it was just right into fast pace slashing and dodging. Colt told me I needed to learn the hard way to allow my “ancestral instincts” to kick in. He refused to baby me through the techniques of sword fighting, and for it, I’ve gotten my knuckles cut open quite a few times already. Colt highly believed I had to learn with music blaring through the entire gymnasium. He told me I needed to learn with my eyes, not with my ears just yet, and that finding a rhythm was easier with the beat of the music. It was like this for every lesson, regardless of what I was learning that day. I just think he’s fucking crazy. 

“Your enemies won’t grant you with a break, Dakota,” Colt said holding his sword directly at my throat. 

I coughed hard, “Dude, I’m not going out in the field next week. And if I was it wouldn’t be with a damn sword.” 

“I’ve told you before, you need to learn the roots of fighting-”

“-I know, I get it!” I yelled, getting myself to my feet again. 

I half expected Colt to say something to zen me out, to tell me my rage needed to be redirected. He didn’t, and I was glad because he always said it in a cocky voice that made me want to throat punch him. Colt only readied his stance to go again. I followed suit, praying I would have at least a centimeter of uncut skin on my knuckles today. 

  
  


After my lesson, I dragged myself to my bedroom, hands wrapped in bandages and every muscle in my body screaming for relief. On my bed laid opened books and notes spread out that needed to be studied for a test tomorrow morning. I marked my pages and placed them on my desk, knowing that I would be cramming this information an hour before the test. I downed three ibuprofen tablets and changed into the loosest fitting clothes I owned before crawling into a ball on my bed.

My Friday morning started late. I jolted myself out my sleep to find I had ten minutes before having to report to my class. 

“Fuck!” I jumped up and changed into whatever clothes were closest to me.

I rushed down to the health wing and into the classroom with only a minute left to spare before our instructor closed the door. Most of my classmates snickered and rolled their eyes at my entrance since this happened after every private lesson. There was no use in making excuses; my classmates were in such high ranks they were only taking these classes for basic field knowledge before their deployment. The test was passed out to every student, and as I watched the white papers of doom slowly approaching my way, I had the sickening feeling I was ultimately screwed. 

I was last to finish the test and turned it in with a sinking feeling in my gut. I grabbed my belongings and made my way to the door when my instructor called for me to stop. Mentor Juliana was not the easiest teacher to please, always ready with a chastisement when a student was on the verge of failing. My stomach instantly dropped, knowing my consistent lateness to her exams was starting to make me look like a very bad student. Mentor Juliana would drop a student at any stage of their medical training, and I might be next. I took a seat close to her desk, her dark eyes watching me as I crossed the classroom. 

“Miss Verdi, I do not want to hear any excuses from you,” She started with acidity; all I could do was look downcast to the floor. “I know you have private lessons with your recruiter on Thursday nights; perhaps the two of you should consider moving them to another day. Your interruptions before a test cannot be tolerated. I will be surprised if you passed this exam, anyway. And if you have failed this exam I will put in a personal note to make sure you will be unable to retake the course.”

My eyes snapped to hers, “But, Mentor, this is my specialty!” 

“Why, for God’s sake, have you already chosen a field specialty? You’re an  _ initiate _ .” 

“It’s what I want to do,” I said with decreasing conviction. 

“You should be more worried about getting with the status quo of an Assassin before jumping into a field specialty, Miss Verdi.” 

I dropped my eyes again, starting to tune out the lecture so it could just be over already.  _ Just tell me I’m dropped, damn it.  _

“I’ve seen your schedule,” Mentor Juliana continued, “You’ve overloaded yourself with classes most students wouldn’t even  _ think  _ about taking within their first six months here. Some Mentors here might praise you for it. But I think it’s pure stupidity.” 

“So are you dropping me or what?” I snapped, glaring at her, “Because I’m not going to sit here just to be insulted for your entertainment,  _ Mentor _ .” 

“Then let us check your test, hm? Let’s see the damage.” 

Mentor Juliana clicked her red pen and peered over my test. She started to review my answers, face hard as stone. After looking over the first page without making any deductions, she flipped to the next page with such haste the page ripped a little at the staple. As each question she went through went without error, I could see her forehead crease in frustration. She checked the fifth and final page, without correction, and sighed heavily. 

“You receive a hundred percent,” she mumbled, “You are dismissed.” 

I left the classroom with a face set to look humble, but on the inside, and once into the empty hallway, my smirk of victory shined. 

  
  


The ending of classes that Friday was the ending of another semester. I confirmed my new schedule that was to start Monday, waiting in line for the library to receive my new textbooks. 

After the mishap with Mentor Juliana, Colt and I spoke and decided to change my private lessons to Saturday evenings. It was a good chance that allowed me more study time along with opening up opportunities to get a jump start on my clinical hours in the health wing. I filled my schedule with a Renaissance History class, the next Practical Nursing class I needed to take, Intro to Weaponry, and Self Defense Level III as my final class for the day. For my weekend activities, I took up an early morning mixed martial arts class on Saturday’s, and an evening course of Fencing on Sunday’s.

I felt as if I was finally getting used to this new life. It was like having the college experience and training as an olympian at the same time. This new life was exhausting, but it kept my mind preoccupied. It would take me a long time to achieve the full status of being an Assassin, and I was okay with that. I had a lot to learn before heading into the field, and even then, I wasn't sure I could do it.


	9. Eight- Colt

#  **_Eight- Colt_ **

“Now, onto the newly recruited,” said Doctor Means, dismissing a previous spat between two mentors. "Who would like to start?" 

“Colt, you have successfully recruited Dakota Verdi, daughter of Master Assassin Antonio Verdi. What is your impression of the new initiate?” Asked Mentor Christina with an arched eyebrow raised and a look of annoyance.

I straightened myself, “She’s a fast learner. She was driven to the Brotherhood by the death of her mother. I fear she may become vengeful in the future.” 

“What will you do to stop her tastes for revenge, Colt?” Mentor Christina chirped, snapping her icy glare to me. 

“Teaching her the tenets of the Creed early, I believe, would help veer her from-”

“-All of the students here are taught our Creed, Colt. What  _ else _ are you going to do?” Mentor Juliana interjected. 

“Whatever the council suggests is right,” I sighed. 

The room went silent for a moment, tension still thick from an argument over sending certain students into the field early. 

Mentor Erik cleared his throat, “She is quite the fast learner- that Dakota girl. Truly promising in such a young Assassin-”

“-She does not impress me,” Mentor Christina snapped and dismissed the conversation. “Colt you may leave and wait for deliberation to be concluded.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” smiled Mentor Juliana, folding her hands upon another. 

I bowed my head to the mentors and left the room. I stood outside with the rest of the nervous-looking recruiters. The door closed as the council started to discuss Doctor Means’ latest contribution to the Base. He invented some sort of machine to help the process of training recruits. This mission was the entire reason why I had to be present for Dakota’s first evaluation. She had only been here at the base for six months, and she surely had impressed Mentor Erik and Mentor De in her first two Combat classes. Dakota had even enrolled herself in Doctor Means’ Medical Procedures as well as his Nursing Practices courses, in which she passed with flying colors. My private training with her helped her become one of the fastest runners I have yet to see, but her climbing speed needed improvement. I had hope that she would be considered for the Doctor’s missions, but after my lovely meeting with the mentors, there was no hope for the girl. 

From where I stood with the rest of the recruiters, we could hear incoherent mutters from inside quickly escalate into another shouting match. I believe it was mostly Mentor Christina’s voice over-shouting the others in the room in complete objection to another’s suggestion. She was good at that. None of her IT students had even been selected for evaluation, and so the entire idea of this mission was bitter to her. It was all over in a few minutes, the voices slowly turning down in volume. Another twenty minutes passed until the door to the room opened again. 

Doctor Means stepped out, “The following recruiters may stay for further evaluations.” He went through an entire list of eleven people before confidently stating, “And Colt Burdett.” 

_ Holy shit _ , I thought to myself,  _ Dakota still has a chance. _

All twelve selected recruiters entered the room; Mentor Christina refused to look in my general direction. Doctor Means took his seat and shifted through the papers in front of him, organizing them in a particular order. He folded his hands on the tabletop and looked at the line of recruiters.

“With my invention,” Doctor Means sighed, “I am looking for students who are quick, gifted, and strong. By ‘quick,’ they need to be smart and agile. By ‘gifted,’ they must be a natural Assassin. And by ‘strong,’ they need to have a special type of strength to them; a personal strength. We will be watching your recruits over the next few weeks, and we will choose who gets to enter the training stages for this special mission. The winners will be announced afterward.” 

_ Dakota,  _ I thought triumphantly,  _ get your game face on. _


	10. Nine- Dakota

#  **_Nine- Dakota_ **

The entire school was called upon one Friday evening for a special announcement. We, like cattle shuffling into a slaughterhouse, moved into the auditorium and were seated by rank. The more experienced Assassin’s were to sit in the back to watch over every one of lower rank, newer arrivals were to be seated in the front and stay attentive during the presentation. I took my seat between James and Sofia about three rows back and center stage. Taking a glance around the room- for the first time I was seeing how many people resided here as a whole.

“Wow,” I said turning back around, “There are a lot of us here.” 

James snorted, “You think _this_ is a lot of people? This doesn’t even half the Templar’s.” 

I blinked at him, “There's more of us though, right? Like Assassin’s in the field?” 

“Some- not enough,” James shrugged. 

The overhead lights dimmed sending a hush amongst the crowd. On stage, a mentor with long blonde hair rose from her seat and walked to the microphone. 

“Good evening to you all,” she said with a crisp British accent. “I am Mentor Christina Woods; some of you know me from IT training, while others have yet to have me for class.” There was a slight cheer from somewhere near the back. Mentor Christina smiled, “Ah, yes, that would be them. Now, we have gathered you here all tonight for a very _special_ reason. You all are growing your skills to be Assassin’s here, all knitting together from your backgrounds for a greater cause. Some of you have been trained all of your lives for the chance to take down our enemies, while the rest of you have come here wanting to better yourselves.” 

Her introduction speech drawled on with the same material I’ve been preached since Colt showed up at my door. I shifted down in my seat, resting my arm on the armrest and putting my head in my hand. 

James cast a sideways glance at me, and I rolled my eyes. 

“Can we hurry this up a bit?” I whispered to him, “I still have that Renaissance History homework to finish.” 

James smirked and rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly before returning his full attention to Mentor Christina’s speech. 

“For the past few months, the Mentors have been collecting progress notes from each recruiter as well as teacher’s notes from _all_ of your classes. We have also collected the video logs from each gym session you have attended- from class and private lessons, and have created files for _every_ student here. As a collective group, we sat down and reviewed every single file. _Why_ , do you ask? The Assassin’s are looking for new ways to innovate the training process, to quickly train someone to the highest level achievable in half the time. With the help of a top-secret invention by Doctor Means, we think we can achieve our dreams. This invention will help us put new and highly efficient Assassins into the field so they can help put an end to the Templar’s.

“Together, we narrowed down the students to specific standards for this new mission. We have picked _six_ students from varying ranks that meet these standards to participate in Phase One. They will be given new classes and training that are designed to be harder and faster for this mission. Then there will be a review period of these six selected students, and two will be dismissed from the elevated training sequences. The four that remain will continue with Phase Two training, until yet again another review period. The last two people left in the course will embark on Phase Three, which will be complete preparation for the mission. At the very end, one person will be chosen to use Doctor Means’s invention for this prestigious mission.

“Now- for the six selected students to be announced, please come onto the stage to be recognized.” Mentor Christina opened a slip of paper she had been holding, “First, from Rank Five…Jeffery Williams- Canada.” 

There was a cheer from the back of the auditorium as a figure made its way forward to the stage. Once he was standing next to the Mentor, he shook her hand with a smile. He had black hair, very tall, and looked strong. He wasn’t exactly the most handsome guy I’ve ever laid eyes on- quite the opposite in fact, because he constantly looked vicious. 

“From rank five…McKenzie Franklin- England.” 

A lean and pretty girl with red curly hair moved onto the stage and shook hands with both the Mentor and the fellow rank five. 

“From rank four…Adrian Aleit- Germany.”

The process continued with rank four’s Ekundayo from Africa. The second to last person to be called was a rank three, Roger Greene from the United States. He was the only one I recognized; I shared both Renaissance History and Self Defense Level III classes with Roger, but I never once spoke a word to him. He was a handsome looking guy, blonde hair and blue eyes, and muscles that told me he has been doing this Assassin thing for a long time. I clapped for him though, since he was an underdog against all rank fives and fours. Roger moved onstage and shook hands with everyone before taking his spot next to Ekundayo in the line of the specially chosen Assassin’s. Mentor Christina waited for Roger to be in position before returning to her paper. She screwed up her face for a second as she read the last name listed with a shake of her head.

She brought the microphone up to her lips, “Finally, our sixth selected student is from Rank one, Dakota Verdi- United States of America.” 

My mouth fell open and my entire body froze. It seemed everyone else around me had done the same. James and Sofia were staring at me, offering me no help to get my brain back on track of what bodily function I was to use next or even comfort and support. Slowly, very cautiously, I stood. 

There was no cheering, no clapping…just utter shocked silence and staring faces. Trying to move forward through the people still seated and looking up at me in the row was embarrassing. No one stood to make my passage easier, leaving me to stumble and squeeze past awkwardly. When I reached the very end of the row, a girl in the last seat put a foot out that I did not see, but my foot met her ankle and sent me crashing down onto the floor. Lying on the auditorium floor at that moment made me wish for death to keep me from the equally embarrassing recovery while people snickered. As I stood, I offered the smug-looking girl a glare of pure feminine piss off. With as much grace as I could muster, I moved to the stairs off the side of the stage. I could feel my hands shaking from nerves, from the threat of overwhelming tears of frustration. 

I moved towards Mentor Christina, and like the others, shook her hand along with the five other students picked. However, no one seemed to genuinely accept the handshake over more than a have-to basis until I reached Roger on the very end. He smiled and shook my hand, even offering a few words of congratulations.

The mentors kept the six of us after the presentation concluded. They went over some basic rules with us about our training and stressed that everything must be kept confidential. The six of us received new schedules that started immediately, and all other classes were no longer in our curriculum until we were removed from the special training. Nothing else was mentioned about the mission with Dr. Means’ new invention, and nor was it hinted on what the invention even was. I kept to myself the entire meeting with crossed arms and down casted eyes. I was confounded. Why did the mentor’s pick me? Compared to the other Assassin’s-in-training here, I was a worthless initiate that can’t do anything with weaponry to save my life. By the end of the meeting, I concluded that I was only filling in the sixth spot so they had someone easy to knock out of the contest. It was either that, or they just wanted a human punching bag to use. 

“Now, you young Assassin’s must remember the three tenets of our Creed,” Mentor Christina said pacing slowly in front of us. “Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Brotherhood.” 

“Nothing is true; everything is permitted,” We six selected Assassin’s said together.

She eyed each of us, “You are dismissed.” 

I walked away from the auditorium knowing that on Monday morning at eight o’clock sharp, I was to enter the gym for skills training with my six new competitors. Colt was running up behind me, telling me to wait up, but I just kept walking. 

“Hey, Dakota, I have your file for you!” He said at a final attempt to catch my attention. He succeeded.

I stopped and slowly turned to face him, “My _file_ ?”   
“The file the Mentor’s made for you and all of the other competitors. They gave them to the recruiters of each student so they could review it.” He handed over a folder with my name marked across the top. 

Taking the folder hesitantly, my frown deepened, “Do you know why they picked me?” 

“Everything is in that folder for your information.” 

“Colt,” I snapped, “I don’t care what they have written in this folder. I want to know why the hell they decided to embarrass the fuck out of me and not any of these other first rank kids!” 

Looking a little shocked, Colt answered my question, “They like the fast pace you can learn at, Dakota. That’s it. That’s the big secret.” 

“Oh…okay,” I said a little guilty for snapping out, “Sorry, I just…I just don’t want this.”

“Why not? I had to fight tooth and nail to get you even _considered_ .”   
Eyeing him with heat, I growled, “Why, Colt? Why? I’m worthless compared to everyone else. I can’t do this shit! I’m going to be knocked out first round so why the hell do you even care?” 

Colt frowned and turned to leave, “Because you sell yourself short.” 

I made my way back to my bedroom. On my desk laid the opened Renaissance History textbook and the homework that no longer was a requirement to complete. I threw away the homework pages and sat down with my folder placed on the desk. Flipping the folder open, I found a copy of the project’s mission statement and the notes taken at every session about me by anonymous mentors. I started to read the first page which said nothing but good things about me in my learning abilities. The same could be said for the next two; however, they both made comments about my low rank. When I reached the fourth page, my self-esteem dropped completely. The mentor that wrote these notes hated me for several reasons: my low rank, inexperience, lack of knowledge of the Assassin’s, and even putting snide comments about the way I looked. There were some very good comments, however. A few commented on how quickly I learned, and how much effort I put into my training. These few comments didn’t help me regain any confidence; they were probably all being nice and tried to show sympathy to the new initiate. Feeling hurt by the mentors’ words, I skipped the rest of the note assessments and found a notice from Doctor Means. 

_We all know that the Assassin’s are quite outmatched by the wealth and power of the Templar Order. The Assassin’s cannot train enough people to replace those who have perished with this ongoing struggle. It is up to us here at the Assassin Base to innovate the way we train our upcoming Assassin’s. I am pleased to announce that my invention is finished, and I have tested the machine personally to ensure that, if properly conducted, it will cause no harm. The three phases of training will ensure the best student for this special mission; they will ready the student for what is to come. I will have the final say in who will be using my machine, simply because I know what it takes to use it. I am looking for someone dedicated, quick, smart, and strong- but a special kind of strong. The reason behind this is to ensure the best and fastest results for our young Assassin’s and to gain as much as possible from the experience._

It was not even four weeks ago that Colt was screaming at me during my private lessons. I couldn’t do anything right then; what changed in these last few weeks that made me worth fighting with the Assassins so early? He kept screaming at me, reminding me of how slow I was at running, climbing… _everything_. I was pathetic at parkour, mostly held back by the fear of falling and breaking every bone in my body. Colt tried to teach me how to fight with swords and other weaponry of the sort, but he wasn’t teaching me the steps, just simply attacking me in a fend-for-yourself style. He even slashed me across the arm with the blade of a sword one night. I had gasped in pain and started to apply pressure to the bloodied area. Colt screamed at me for that, too. He asked me what I would have done if I was in a real battle, and mocked my nursing actions. Colt continuously insulted my intelligence by repeatedly calling me stupid, and mocked me until I wanted to cry. 

I remembered one incident where I was in my Intro to Weapons class. We were learning how to wield weapons used in martial arts. We started out using wooden swords and paired up with a partner to practice. My partner had accidentally slashed down on my wrist with quite a lot of force; I was lucky my wrist didn’t break from the encounter. He apologized and I accepted it, but it was what came after that bugged me. A girl in my class, a rank four, started taunting me. 

“Awe, little Dakota can’t take a hit. Poor little thing,” she started, and her friends laughed. 

I turned my back to her and went to make my way towards the locker rooms.

“Welcome to the Assassin’s, learn to take a hit. Mommy and daddy aren’t here to save you anymore, sweetheart.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her. 

“Oh look, she’s mad. What you going to do, Dakota? You have nothing on a rank four.” 

“I’m going to tell you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. I don’t give a shit what rank you are, or about _you_ to begin with.” 

“Hey!” She stepped towards me, “Respect your higher ranks!” 

The girl went to grab my hair with one hand and pulled back a fist with the other. I quickly dodged the hand aimed for my hair and spun behind her. I grabbed the wrist she had pulled back and twisted it. She spun around and reached for my throat, but I retaliated against her downward grab with a forceful flat-footed kick to her stomach. It knocked the wind out of her, and while she was distracted, I quickly rushed in and wrapped my arms around her waist, picking her up, and slamming her onto the ground. When I started to move away from the defeated rank four, everyone in the class was staring at me. I looked around at everyone with the same angered gaze before trying to retreat once more. Then, in the next moment came the most hated noise I had become accustomed too- Colt screaming at me.

“Dakota, what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” He was rushing forward towards me, about to make a huge scene in front of everyone. “You stupid, good for nothing-”

“-Colt that is enough!” Shouted someone from the back of the gym.

I turned to find Mentor Erik pushing himself through the gathered crowd of students with a very stern look on his face. 

“Mentor Erik, you-”

“-Shut up, Colt. Miss Verdi was acting in her defense. And, matter of a fact, I believe I will be taking away your private training privileges with Dakota starting immediately- until you learn how to coach properly.” 

“What?” Colt gasped, “And who will be training her then?”

Mentor Erik clasped his hands behind his back, “I will. Eight P.M. Saturday nights in gym two. Is that correct Miss Verdi?” 

I jumped at the sudden question, “Uh…yes, that’s correct.” 

“Add on Monday night at Five P.M. to your schedule as well, Miss Verdi.” 

“Yes, Mentor,” I nodded.

I was still shocked by how Mentor Erik practically came to my rescue. My first private training with the mentor was a pleasant experience. He praised me for everything Colt told me I was doing wrong. Mentor Erik was impressed with how fast my running times were, and how quickly I could dodge and block. He said with a little more practice I would be able to strike like lightning. 

Mentor Erik introduced me to the Sai blades in our second training together. He showed me how to spin the blades to go back and forth between an attack stance and a defensive stance. Slowly, he started to teach me how to defend against attacks using the blades. Defending turned into countering the moves of my opponents. Countering moves turned into learning how to attack. Mentor Erik would use a variety of different weapons against my Sai blades, prepping me to expect different tactics for each weapon. The mentor found that I had somewhat of a fascination for using blades, and started to teach me how to throw knives. It helped me learn how to aim as well, a skill Colt quite easily overlooked. As my aim improved, Mentor Erik introduced me to learning how to shoot pistols. 

Soon, we started a training schedule. On Monday’s we worked on refining my skills with the Sai blades, throwing knives, and pistols. Saturdays were dedicated to working on my strength and conditioning, climbing various platforms in the gym, using all of my senses, and stealth. Mentor Erik even allowed me to use hidden blades strapped to my arms, which upon a flick of my wrist, ejected a silver blade. He taught me assassination techniques and how to use my surroundings to my advantage- including tricks to performing air assassinations. 

“Dakota,” Mentor Erik said nearing an end of a Saturday lesson, “Colt had written in your recruitment notes that you have the sense.” 

“The _sense_?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. 

He chuckled, “Eagle Vision.” 

“ _Oh_ … _that_.” 

“So it is true then? You can use the sense?” 

“I guess- I mean I don’t make a habit of doing so, but I _have_ used it before.” 

“Eagle Vision helps the Assassins who have unlocked the sense to indicate their allies, enemies, and targets. Perhaps you should experiment with it some more, Dakota.”

I shrugged, “I don’t like it.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Well I guess after having kids make fun of you in elementary school, you tend to not like it so much.” 

Mentor Erik laughed and clasped his hand on my shoulder, “Simply because they do not understand. Dakota, you are quite the promising young Assassin, I must admit that.” 

After the incident with Colt, we did not speak for a while. It took him about three weeks after the screaming incident in the gym to approach me again. I was sitting in the Base’s library alone, working on some homework in the peace between the shelves filled with books. It was the quietest place in the Base on a Friday night, considering no one wanted to participate in a late-night study party when class had let out for the week. If it hadn’t been for my early Saturday morning martial arts class, I would have adventured out on the town with my friends that night. As I read through my textbook on the search for answers to a worksheet on Renaissance History, I heard the muffled footsteps upon the carpeting approaching. I looked up from my textbook, but I did not see anyone approaching my corner through the bookshelves. With a few concentrated blinks, I activated Eagle Vision to find Colt walking towards me with an impassive expression. I rolled my eyes and returned to my textbook as he approached. 

He stopped in front of my table, “Dakota, may I sit with you?” 

“Knock your socks off.” 

“Well,” Colt pulled out a chair and sat down, “I…uh…want to apologize for what was said at the gym. I was upset because anything you do wrong comes back on me. I didn’t see what had happened, exactly, and I just watched you beat the hell out of a rank four for seemingly no reason.” 

“There _was_ a reason,” I said smartly. 

“Yes, and I know that now. But, Dakota, I am sorry for what I said.” 

“I forgive you, Colt.”

“Enough to allow me to train you again?”

I folded my hands on my book and thought for a minute. “I want to finish out this module with Mentor Erik. He’s been teaching me a lot of things and we’re in the middle of some important lessons.”

“I understand. Thank you, Dakota. I’ll leave you to your work,” Colt stood up and pushed his chair under the table.

I sat back in my chair with a heavy sigh, remembering how crazy these past few weeks had been. I wished Colt didn’t try so hard to have me considered for this mission. I knew that I was nowhere close to being qualified enough for being sent out on a mission; the higher ranks deserved the opportunity, not a rank one initiate. I didn’t care how well I was progressing in my private training; it wasn’t enough experience to outweigh the other’s accomplishments. There was the overwhelming feeling that I was only picked for my father’s previous standings with the Assassin Brotherhood, and that angered me. Just because my father was a Master Assassin should not give me any special standing here at the Base. 

Trying to stop my frustrations, I closed the folder and put it inside one of the desk drawers. I readied myself to take a shower where the hot water could melt away my frustrations. I retired early for the night and fell asleep, my body exhausted from everything these past few months.


End file.
